


Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts

by snowbellewells



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-01-31 08:59:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 89,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18587998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbellewells/pseuds/snowbellewells
Summary: An ongoing collection of one shots, missing moments, au ideas, and other various shorter OuaT-inspired fics; Started in the summer hiatus after season four and has carried on from thereMost entries are Captain Swan centered, but there are entries more Captain Cobra, Charming family, Captain Book brotp, Captain Charming brotp, and more





	1. I'm Right Here Waiting

 

For reasons he does not fully understand, and ones he does but cannot bring himself to contemplate now that she is gone, they let Killian keep the dagger bearing Emma’s name. It is a dubious honor to be sure, but he also dislikes the idea of anyone else holding the implement which could be used to summon and control his lady love. And in some way, it feels as if they are assuring him their acceptance, and that he is trusted with safeguarding the emblem of their daughter they have left. He had been sure that her parents would insist that they were the best guardians, or that Regina would be deemed its best custodian, because she might have the power and knowledge to understand its hold over Emma.

Instead, Killian finds himself alone below decks of his beloved ship, sitting slumped and weary on the bunk in his cabin, clutching the infernal device in his hand, fingers clenched so tight that the metal digs into his skin and his knuckles have gone white. Staring down at the inscribed name of his Swan on the silver face, he realizes that in all the long years he sought this dagger, lusted after the instrument that would bring his Crocodile’s downfall, it has never held such sinister beauty as it does now, bearing Emma’s name. He traces the curve of his hook along the lettering, steel whispering on steel, insidious whispers of the hurt and betrayal and pain that come along with the curse this weapon controls. One single tear of the bitter, broken torrent he had held back in the presence of her family, breaks fear and slides from his face to rest glimmering on the dagger’s face.

He knows he shouldn’t call her; realizes that she very probably took herself away from them, where she couldn’t harm them until she knew how much control she would have of the immense light and dark powers now encased within her lithe frame. And yet, it is so tempting. He needs to see her so badly, to know that she is still alive, not lost in torment or pain, not driven mad, but still herself, still the Emma Swan that he loves beyond all reason. The rough, calloused pad of his thumb rubs the moisture away, nearly caressing her name as he does. ‘I’m right here, Love,’ he murmurs into the stillness of the night. ‘You know where to find me, whenever, whatever you need…just come back to me.’

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It is the next evening before he sees anyone else. He is still on the Jolly Roger, but above deck, looking out over the choppy grey waves of Storybrooke harbor to the seemingly endless horizon. Not knowing what may come next, who may appear wanting to harness the powers of the new Dark One, or when he might need to have the device at hand to summon Emma if they found out how to free her, Killian has already found a safe hiding place for the blade, where no one but he could find it. The chill New England wind whips across his face, stinging his cheeks, but he welcomes the biting cold, letting it brace him, knowing he needs to find grounding for himself to think and figure out his course of action. Wherever Swan is, he cannot leave her there to languish alone. He needs to be off after her, attempting to make a dashing rescue, even if –as is often the case where his lady is concerned – by the time he arrives, she has managed to rescue herself. It that proves true this time as well, he will be only too glad.

Footsteps cross from the dock to the ship’s gangway and alert Killian that he has a visitor. Turning warily, his hand goes almost unconsciously to the hilt of his cutlass, once more belted at his waist, despite still wearing his more modern garb. However, his shoulders lower and he relaxes once more when he sees that it is Henry who has come looking for him. Gesturing for the lad to join him at the bow of the ship, Killian tries to offer a somewhat convincing smile.

Swan’s boy does join him, and they stand silently, both studying the stretch of water spread out before them and the limitless sky above. The youth is as gangly and awkward as he himself once was, so very long ago, and as he remembers his father, Baelfire, when he spent time aboard this very ship. However, Henry also possesses a quiet strength – an ability to put forth an aura of calm and belief even in the midst of a storm such as this one where they currently find themselves. It is an interesting amalgam of Regina’s determination, Emma’s spark, Bae’s resourcefulness, David’s honor, and Snow’s hope. He’s the best of all of them, Killian’s thinks offhandedly, wishing that the boy had not had to develop all those qualities from the many trials he has already weathered before even reaching adulthood. Yet, he gets closer everyday, the Captain realizes now, as he notes that Henry’s head easily passes his shoulder now as they stand side by side.

No words seem to be necessary between them; though they have not been given to deep, heart-baring talks, he and Henry have come to share an easy camaraderie, between sailing lessons, campfire nights under the stars with Emma where he has showed them both something of reading the stars, and more lunches and dinners of grilled cheese from Granny’s than he could possibly count. The moment is just beginning to bring him some small measure of comfort, when the young man beside him bows his head and his face crumples in silent weeping. His still thin but broadening shoulders shake with the strength of his emotion, though no sound escapes. 

Henry braces one hand on the ship’s hull for support as he leans forward, trying to hide his face from the former pirate, as if ashamed of his tears. Killian reaches out automatically, placing a hand on the lad’s shoulder, before fearing that perhaps the touch is unwanted and will only further his discomfort. Henry’s words, when they come, are harsh, as if raked unwilling from his throat. “It’s just…Mom’s gone…S-She just vanished…She could…b-be hurt….and we aren’t doing anything to find her.”

It is then that Killian knows what is needed, what Henry is seeking but is too proud to ask for – more like his mother than he probably realizes. Pulling Henry to him and holding on tight, he lets this brave young man, who is still just a boy as well, cry on his shoulder, shedding a few tears right along with him. It does feel as if they are doing nothing, but until they have some sign, some clue, some way to get to either Emma or Merlin, they would only be venturing out blind. All he can offer are a few murmured words, “Let it out. There is no shame in missing her. I will be here, anytime you need to speak of her, or plan different routes we might take to reach her when the time comes…I…I miss her too…more than words can say.”  
After another minute or so, Henry’s sobs ease, he steps back, and then wipes a shaking hand over his face. He gives Killian a somber nod of gratitude and meets the captain’s eyes once more. A glimmer of that hope and belief seems to have rekindled his open gaze as he asks sheepishly. “If you have any maps of Camelot, could we look over them now?”

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By week’s end, Killian has grown better at swallowing the pain he still feels as his constant companion. He has ventured off his ship and gone back to the motions of his usual days. He spends a bulk of his time either sailing, or charting courses to various lands Emma might have gone, with Henry, or helping Charming at the station and answering various calls for help from their sheriff’s office. He occasionally wanders in the forest with Robin, and gathers from the archer that Regina is feeling a heavy weight of guilt at the sacrifice Emma made for her happiness and at the pain her adopted son is now suffering. The former outlaw makes it clear that Regina has not given up and is exhausting every spell book and source of information she knows to find a way for them to locate the Savior. Killian can feel no ill will towards the Queen; it was not something she had asked or expected Emma to do. He merely accepts Robin’s words with what he hopes is a fitting measure of grace and thanks them both for their efforts.

It is during one such evening, as he is preparing taking his evening supper order to the table in the far back of the diner, that his fragile poise finally breaks. Ruby hands him the beef stew, thick side of homemade bread and apple crisp dessert that he had ordered at the counter, and as he turns to carry the meal back to his seat, Killian loses his grip on the plate. With two good hands, he could have caught it, but his hook cannot grasp the glass flatware, though his hook arm jerks upward instinctively in a futile attempt. The plate and silverware hit the floor with what seem to him a deafening crash; glass shattering and stew splashing everywhere.

Killian has all he can do to hold back the tirade of curses too rough for the ears of many of Granny’s diner occupants at present. He kneels, already apologizing to the wolf girl and trying to gather the larger shards of broken glass before anyone gets hurt. It is only spilled food and chipped place settings, but he feels moisture gathering in the corner of his eyes in frustration at everything: not just this momentary clumsiness, but their inability to find anything to help Emma, this endless, agonizing waiting, his own inability to protect her and keep her from making such a bitter sacrifice. It all seems too much suddenly, and Killian cannot even find the strength or desire to stand back up and offer to clean the mess he has made or order another helping of his meal.

He barely registers the bell over the door chiming as someone new enters or the footsteps as this person nears where he has crouched on the floor. A moment later, he is looking into the concerned eyes of Swan’s boy, as Henry asks if he is alright. It is tempting to scowl, to snap that of course he isn’t alright, but instead he swallows hard over the monstrous lump in his throat, and gives the tiniest nod of assurance. He will be fine; he has to be.  
“It’s just stew,” Henry says, offering a tentative, lopsided grin as he stands again, and Killian feels his body doing the same even before he consciously gives it the order to do so. “Granny has plenty more, and it mops right up. No harm done.”

Henry is a bright lad, more than sharp enough to know that Hook’s downtrodden countenance is about more than wasted food or incurring their irascible innkeeper’s wrath, but he is trying manfully to keep the conversation light, to guide it back out of despairing waters, as this man has done for him many times now since his birth mother’s disappearance. He reaches out, easily resting a hand on Killian’s brace, the first person other than Swan herself to touch it on purpose and without cringing away in fear or disgust, merely to offer support and comfort.

Killian’s eyes fly back up to Henry’s brown ones, and the spark, the faith in his gaze is what Emma had just begun to show when she looked at him. He could not have felt her presence anymore clearly if Emma had been standing right beside him, whispering in his ear. He hears her words as he looks at her son and shakily returns Henry’s smile. ‘I’m right here,’ Swan’s voice ghosts sweetly through his mind and echoes in his chest, ‘Don’t give up. I’ll come back to you again…’


	2. Stories to Help Us Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny snippet set post S4 after Emma disappears with the dagger

“Come on, Buddy, stop wiggling,” Henry Mills chides gently, brushing light fingers over his much-younger uncle’s forehead. “I promised Grandma and Gramps I’d help get you to sleep – not get you all wound up.”

Snow and Charming’s little boy has no such illusions however, squealing with glee and kicking his pudgy arms and legs wildly at his nephew’s words. “Now…where was I?” Henry murmurs to himself, keeping a hand in the crib lightly patting baby Neal’s tummy, but turning to look back at the storybook spread open in his lap.

“I believe you were right about where Charles and Leia begin their first dance at the engagement ball for Prince James and Princess Abigail, and Charles discovers that Leia is a natural…” a deep voice interrupts fondly from the door of the nursery, causing Henry to turn and look over his shoulder at Killian with a knowing smirk.

“Well, you should know, shouldn’t you, ‘Charles’?” he teases affectionately.

“Aye,” the captain nods, coming forward into the room until he stands beside Henry, looking down into the young prince’s crib, with a chuckle at his own expense, “true enough, Lad.”

Tentatively, not wanting to scare or startle the infant, the pirate, with more gentleness than most would assume he possesses, taps a finger on little Neal’s nose, causing the baby to giggle ecstatically, a wide, gummy smile breaking across his face. It almost takes Killian’s breath away, seeing the little one grin so broadly for him, and then reach out a curious hand, probably intrigued by the large ring on his finger with sparkling red stone, and clutch the digit tightly before the captain can withdraw his hand. Continuing to gurgle contentedly, oblivious to the way he has made a notorious, hardened figure of legend melt, Neal settles somewhat and gazes up at both his babysitters serenely.

Before Henry can resume the bedtime story from his beloved book though, Killian touches his shoulder, nodding again at the baby before them. “I can see your mother in him when he smiles so,” Killian says softly, his words weighted with both awe and wistfulness. “I find it strangely comforting, even that small a reminder…”

Neither of them speak for a few minutes, until Neal begins to fuss and they break out of the mostly peaceful trance they had slipped into while gazing on him. Henry clears his throat to begin reading once more, but looks steadily at Killian before he does so, adding only, “She smiled like that a lot more often once you came into her life.”

Killian’s chest expands with the impact of Henry’s words, and he finds he has no words to offer in return to such a precious statement. He merely stands sentinel over Swan’s brother and her son as the story continues, happily listening once more as their trip to the past unfolds, and reminding himself that just as they had found a way back to their current time, he will find a way to reach Emma wherever she has gone. Perhaps the book will soon hold another story of the princess and her pirate.


	3. Shelter from the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A now long-disproven glimpse at where I thought Emma might have landed after disappearing with the dagger  
> Yet one more post-S4 fic (It was a long summer that time...)

Emma lands hard on dry, rocky ground; pain at the impact radiating up her spine when her legs crumple and she falls the rest of the way in a heap. For a few seconds she simply lies there, unmoving, trying to regain the breath that has been knocked out of her. It isn’t long, however, before survival instinct flares to life once more and she pushes herself up to a standing position, looking around and struggling to find anything she might recognize.

Intellectually, she knows that she had tried to send herself as far away from her loved ones and her new home as possible. She simply couldn’t risk the chance that this new dark power curling within her would be more than she could control. At least one thing seems to be going right for her; the Dark Curse may be tingling, slithering under her skin, but it is not overwhelming. She is still in her right mind, and though the evil may simply be biding its time, she does not feel driven to do anything violent or reprehensible.

It isn’t until she really takes stock of her surroundings that she begins to feel her heartrate kick up a notch and worry come rushing back to fill her mind. The sky overhead is turning a sickening, foreboding grey-green – the sort of color that would have warned them to batten down hatches and listen for tornado sirens back in the real world. Wind whips her hair into a more wild and tangled mess than the fingers of the darkness had made when it swallowed her up in its claws. She is nearly bowled over as she stands trying to figure out her next move.

Glancing to her right, she can see from minimal shelter of the straggling trees that form the edge of a small forest where she has landed. An unexpected, probably half-hysterical snort of laughter almost escapes at the sudden urge to quote ‘The Wizard of Oz’. Wherever she is, she certainly isn’t in Kansas – or Maine – anymore. It would seem she isn’t even in the 21st century. The village she sees before as she turns to study it more closely resembles one of the homely little outposts where the serfs and peasants scratch out a living in one of those movies about knights and wizards and kings…. The thought sets off a thrill of anxious adrenaline in her mind. Could it be that she has taken herself exactly where she needed to go? She is no expert, but she knows enough of Camelot legends to assume it would be the first place to look for the Sorcerer, Merlin. Is that where she is?

Emma doesn’t have much time to ponder the possibility. The wind has begun to shriek and howl all around her, flinging dirt and loose twigs against her body as it hurls them along in its path. She has to get out of the open, find some cover before she is hit with something that causes permanent damage or gets literally carried away. She wishes desperately she could head for the village; it isn’t that far off. Surely someone would take pity on a person who is as obviously bedraggled, lost, and vulnerable to this storm as she must look. Her instinctive fear of what she might do – what she could do if the darkness flares up within her suddenly – won’t allow it though.

Forcing herself not to get lost in self-pity or to give into the frightened, weary tears that want to escape her eyes, Emma turns away from the simple little thatched roofed homes and plunges further into the forest behind her. The trees grow thicker and provide a bit more cover as she wanders deeper in their midst. However, when torrents of rain begin to dump from the sky above in a soaking deluge, the branches and leaves cannot completely shield her, and it isn’t long before she is soaked to the skin and shivering uncontrollably.

Long, helpless minutes tick by as she trudges on, looking for someplace sheltered where she can escape the rain and warm herself. She is exhausted; her body aches from the hard landing in this realm, from the pain of light and dark pushing and pulling, warring within her. Her heart aches for Killian’s arms and for Henry’s soft hair under her hand as he wraps his arms around her waist in a hug. Sniffling, she wishes for David’s steadying hand to cradle the back of her head reassuringly and for Mary Margaret’s soft palms on her cheeks, cradling her face as she beams at her in a way only a mother can. Shivers begin wracking her body in the ever-darkening woods, and Emma can feel her teeth chattering violently enough that she fears biting through her own tongue.

She is about to stumble to her knees, frighteningly certain that she might stay where she has fallen, when she sees a cave opening just a few feet before her. In the dismal light and the moss that nearly hides its entrance, she might have trudged right on past it, but luckily she didn’t. This might just be her saving grace.  
Throwing herself inside, Emma clambers in the pitch-blackness that engulfs her, feeling her way with hands on the dank rock walls until she senses that she has reached the back of the small space. It would seem to be deserted, and she is not going to talk herself out of the only shelter she has seen for fear that some wild animal or other person might happen to be in there too. She can only stay out there growing chilled to the bone and wandering aimlessly for so long if she plans to live long enough to find Merlin or have those she loves find her.

With her back pressed against the rough cave wall, Emma slides down the surface until she is sitting, arms wrapped tightly around herself, trembling and shaking, hoping that being in out of the wet will allow her to regain at least a bit of warmth. She could use her magic. It would be all too easy to conjure a small fire now, with the amount of power accessible at her fingertips. Still, she holds herself back, afraid that if she uses even a bit of it before she is sure just how much control she has retained, the price could be terrible. Would the inferno swallow the whole cave and her along with it? Would it stretch out to engulf the whole forest and burn that village and its innocent inhabitants to the ground? She can’t know, and so she forces herself to do nothing, simply huddles in the dark and trying not to freeze.  
Her skin has gone icy cold, and her eyes are fluttering, starting to shut with a lethargy that she knows can’t mean anything good, when she hears a voice whispering to her. ‘Light a fire, Swan. You must get warm. I know you can control it…I’ve yet to see you fail.’

She shakes her head against Killian’s voice at first, the deep, lovely brogue she can practically feel as a caress against her chilled skin unmistakable as anyone else. Unfortunately, she knows that he is more concerned with her survival than the possible risks. How can she be hearing his voice anyway? She’s out of her head, delirious, that must be it…

Emma slumps over on her side, trying fruitlessly to curl in on herself and find some rest. But the insistent, lilting voice won’t leave her be, this time yelling in her head and jerking her momentarily from her stupor. ‘Emma! No! You must light a fire! I won’t have you dying before I can rescue you!’

Hazily, she remembers another dark path of rock, running through the dungeons beneath Regina’s castle and almost careening right into Killian, her father, and Ruby, foiling his ‘dashing rescue’. A lethargic smile flits over her face, the rainwater still tracking down her cheeks washing it away again the next instant. “Fine, stubborn pirate…” she slurs softly, though no one can hear. “Just a small one… it’s on you if anyone gets hurt.”

Her hand barely moves as she summons a small flame from her palm. The little blaze catches and settles to the floor just before her, and Emma immediately feels a small bit of the warmth emanating from it. She scoots as close to her fire as she dares, welcoming even the slightest retreat of the cold. 

Pillowing her head on her arms, Emma slowly slips out of wakefulness, hoping that tomorrow will find her with some idea of what to do, where to go, how to get out of this lonely place and back where she belongs. She is already asleep when the tremors ease and she warms enough to be out of immediate danger. As she sleeps, the storm outside is pushed from her awareness, the one within forgotten, as she dreams of blue eyes, an archly raised brow, and a gleaming silver hook…of the man she hopes will bring her home.


	4. Her Something Borrowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This little pre-CS wedding fic was written for a summer challenge on Tumblr, probably three seasons ago, I think between seasons four and five. I have always found writing Emma-Snow, mother-daughter moments much trickier than writing Emma-Charming ones, but this was one instance where I felt it worked well. Enjoy!!

“Oh Emma,” Mary Margaret gushed, a wide, beaming smile splitting her lovely face and infectiously drawing her daughter into her proud glee. “I’m just so happy for you!”

Though her smile didn’t fade, Emma saw her mother’s eyes glistening as Snow continued to hold her gaze, and her petite hands trembled the tiniest bit as they clasped Emma’s to squeeze affectionately. 

“What is it, Mom?” Emma asked, patting Mary Margaret’s hand atop hers comfortingly.

“It’s…it’s just…” here the rightful queen of the Enchanted Forest sniffled conspicuously and bowed her dark head, hiding her eyes from Emma for a moment or two. When she looked up again, her gaze was once more clear and happy, even if her soft voice quavered a bit. “This is all I ever wanted for you, Emma. Tomorrow my baby girl will marry her True Love…I only wish I had been there for you all along the way. You’re a princess, and you should have grown up loved and adored. You father and I had so much we wanted to show you. We wanted to teach you to dance, to ride horses and shoot arrows, to give you your first crown… to laugh and to love. Now, you’re going to be someone’s wife; you’re all grown up… and we’ve only had you for a couple of years.”

The raven-haired woman wiped her eyes, as they’d grown suspiciously misty again, and smiled apologetically at her daughter. They had been sitting in the loft trying hairstyles for the last couple hours, Emma unable to make up her mind on what would go with her simple cream dress and a wedding on the sandy shoreline. She knew her mom wasn’t trying to dampen the mood or make her feel guilty; she merely loved Emma and regretted all the time they had lost. Emma easily understood that pain, but she couldn’t turn back time, and she was more focused on her nerves for the following day.

Killian had agreed with her every wish: for a simple, relaxed ceremony at the water’s edge (he had quite liked that one), for the guest list to remain small (despite the whole town wanting to attend the Savior’s wedding) and the ceremony short, and for them to dispense with foofy dresses and three-piece suits. She was no blushing innocent, a fact of which her thirteen-year-old son was living proof, and had never really dreamed of a fancy wedding anyway. Killian would look unfairly, breathtakingly handsome no matter what he wore. She had picked a dress she genuinely liked, and so would be wearing a lovely, cap-sleeved number that flirted and flared at her knees with a delicate lace overlay. It was elegant and demure, but not at all overdone.

Though she knew Killian loved it when she left her hair cascading down her back in waves, and she would normally give him his preference, Emma felt that a day this special should call for something different than her ordinary style. They were mostly attempting updos on her hair, and she had finally settled on the one she sported now – swept up in much the way it had been during the ball she and Killian attended in the past. It seemed fitting to Emma, as it had been that adventure which finally forced her to recognize Killian would always come after her, always find her and stand by her, and which had allowed her to finally open her heart to him completely.

“You know…” Mary Margaret whispered, breaking into Emma’s reverie and trailing off as she stood and moved over to her closet, beginning to search through boxes on the overhead shelf. “All grown up now or not, I may still be able to do one of those things I wanted to do for my princess daughter.”

Emma’s eyes widened when Mary Margaret turned back around holding a velvet-lined box, open to display a sparkling, crystal-covered circlet – certainly a tiara, but not huge or overwhelming. Despite her plain and simple preferences, Emma couldn’t help loving it. It was simply beautiful.

“This was my first crown,” Snow explained wistfully. “I wanted to give it to you on your thirteenth birthday, just as my mother did for me. But…maybe you could wear it tomorrow? If you’d like…”

Emma nodded, speechless and touched by how much the offering meant to her mother. The chance to share at least one of the traditions they had missed was a bit overwhelming. Happy tears flooded her eyes right along with her mom’s, and they embraced, both sniffing and then giggling a bit at themselves as they pulled apart once more.

When Emma could speak normally again, she gave Mary Margaret a half-smile and added jokingly. “Besides, Killian will love it. He’s a pirate after all – reformed or not – and that tiara is quite the treasure.”


	5. He's Full of Suprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is complete fluff - imagined "Killian fitting into Storybrooke" and CS dating like a normal couple fun

As she steps into Granny’s Diner on the tail end of the dinner rush, Emma Swan can’t help shaking her head at the comic lunacy of her life and sharing a sideways glance and smirk with David at her side as Ruby Lucas comes rushing up to them wide-eyed and already apologizing. Emma doesn’t get too worked up, even as Ruby’s cherry red nails flash while she gestures her hands widely in making her point; they’ve had nearly three whole weeks of peace now since Rumple’s banishment and Ingrid’s death, and Emma is concentrating on taking things easier and enjoying the calm. 

“Sheesh, Emma, I’m sorry!” Ruby breaks into her thoughts again with her exuberant word flow. “I know you and Hook had some sort of special date planned. He was so happy telling me about it at breakfast this morning! I swear, if I’d known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have let him start…”

Emma tries to simply smile kindly and not bust out laughing at the absurdity of it all: the situation, her boyfriend, and the fact that their big date being put on hold doesn’t even upset her that much. She holds up a hand to stem the tide of Ruby’s apologies and says evenly, with a touch of humor. “It’s alright, Ruby. I promise. Why don’t you just take me to my missing pirate?”

The brunette looks immensely grateful, the shoulders that had been held high with tension lowering as she lets out a relieved breath. She nods, turning and beckoning Emma to follow her behind the counter and into the kitchen area of the diner as David moves off to find a table.

When they push through the swinging door leading into the hub of scurrying activity that is Granny’s kitchen, Emma simply stops to stare wide-eyed at the flurry of movement and efficiency, her mouth falling open a bit in surprise. Ruby moves to the chair set up in the back where her granny is overseeing everything. Widow Lucas sprained her ankle a few weeks back, and has been ordered to stay off it as much as possible by Dr. Whale – to much displeasure and grumbling from the older woman. Still, she appears to be following orders at present, and Emma can see that her sharp eyes miss little of what happens in her kitchen.

What truly floors Emma, however, is Killian, standing at the massive stovetop, seemingly the center of this hive of production and looking completely in control. While he carefully stirs a simmering pan of some delicious-smelling liquid, he waves his hook arm carefully to one person, then another, indicating what they need to do next, where they ought to be, what one needs to bring him for the recipe, then nodding as new orders are brought to him and questions are asked.

Emma shakes her head in disbelief. It would seem there is no end to the ways in which Killian Jones can surprise her. He had called at noon to say he wouldn’t be sharing the lunch Snow had packed with she and her father at the station as he often did. He had further gone on to ask if she would meet him at the diner before their date, only saying that he was “helping Granny and Ruby out a bit”.

Clearly, this is more than that. Killian looks like a master chef in his element as he bends to smell whatever heavenly concoction he’s creating, then checks on something else within the depths of the oven. His usual grace carries over to his cooking, and everyone around him defers to the captain without a bit of hesitation. Several questions fly to the tip of her tongue: Who taught him to cook? Why hadn’t he told her how good his is? How in the world did he end up running Granny’s kitchen this evening? Instead, she merely steps into his line of vision and asks teasingly, “Hey sailor, should I get you a tall white hat and start calling you Emeril?”

“Ah! Swan!” he exclaims, glancing up and beaming at her proudly when their eyes meet. “Not that I am not thrilled to see you, Love, but what brings you here? Did someone lodge a complaint?”

She smiles wryly, tilting her head as she studies his obvious joy, “Well, you told me to meet you here,” she explains simply.

His blue gaze locks on her in shock, and his expression drops quickly. “Oh, Emma….our date…” his voice is softer now, sounding disappointed in himself, when a moment before it had been so light and playful. “I didn’t forget, Lass, truly. I simply had no idea it had grown so late. Their cook took sick mid-morning, whilst I was finishing my breakfast at the counter. I volunteered my services, and here we are.”

“Time sure flies when you’re having fun?” Emma asks curiously, quirking an eyebrow at him, definitely intrigued, but trying to convey that she isn’t upset. It actually warms her heart that he had wanted to help out, responded so enthusiastically to being needed and easily accepted at the post without question. He has given so much to be here with her in this modern age, and she loves seeing him find a place where he fits and excels seamlessly.

“Certainly not as much fun as an evening spent in your lovely company,” he says for her ears alone, smiling a bit rakishly when he sees there’s no harm done. “I am sorry I’ve spoiled our plans though, Swan,” he adds sincerely, “but I cannot leave at present.”

She grins and cannot resist kidding him a bit, “I can see that, Maestro.” Stepping right up to his side, she leans forward to kiss him on the cheek affectionately. “It’s fine, Killian. We can have that particular date another time. I’m here with you; that’s what matters.”

His wide open smile warms and reaches all the bare, cracked corners of her once-neglected heart. The love in his eyes, still unspoken but unmistakable, makes her breath catch. “Thank you, Emma,” he whispers, genuine gratitude in his tone. “Now, here,” he lifts the stirring spoon of what she sees is some sort of special sauce and hold it to her lips, “taste?”

The flavor bursts on her tongue, engaging all her taste buds, and Emma can’t help the way her eyes slide closed and the way her “mmm” of approval comes out more a low moan of pleasure.

When her eyes flick back open and catch Killian’s again, he looks a bit strained and his voice comes out raspy as he warns, “No more of that, Swan, or I will be leaving this to burn and dragging you to the supply cupboard.”

She clutches his forearm at the way his words make her knees wobble, but manages a sultry, “I’ll keep that in mind,” response.

**********************888888888888888888888888************************

Much later, as they sit eating the last of the night’s pasta special he had created in the dim light of a couple candles Ruby had lit for them in the closed diner, Emma reflects that the evening had been perfect just the way it was. She had settled on a tall stool in the kitchen, out of the way of Killian and the other workers, but where she could watch in awe as her pirate – and chef, apparently – boyfriend orchestrated it all. Her vantage point had allowed her to take everything in and accept little kisses, caresses, and tastes of whatever he was making each time Killian passed by. It had been as lovely and relaxing an evening as she could have wanted.

Sitting with him, fingers curled around his hook as he uses his other hand to finish his meal, Emma finds herself so satisfied and at peace that she can’t remember when thing had last been so right in her world. When Killian puts down his spoon and turns toward her, brow quirked in consternation and asks, “By the way, Love, earlier when you said it I forgot to ask. Who on Earth is this Emeril bloke you mentioned?” she throws her head back laughing before she explains. It’s so easy to enjoy the happiness and freedom Killian brings to her life. She is still Sheriff, Savior, and Lost Girl, but she can also just be Emma, enjoying a night with her boyfriend, regardless of what they do. 

No, even if she could have predicted how this date would turn out, she wouldn’t have it any other way.


	6. Lover of the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was to fill a prompt for the color "Yellow" (I'm weirdly proud of it, maybe because it was a different sort of exercise for me, but I liked how it turned out...)

He supposes he has always been enamored of the color, Killian Jones muses as he delves his fingers into the soft, shimmering blonde strands of Emma’s hair. Just touching her pale, corn silk yellow locks, he marvels again that he is the one she finally allows to hold her, to be this close when she needs someone to lean on. For a moment he is lost in the feel of the long, luxurious strands, letting the very sensation carry him back…

While he’d still been a wee lad, there had been a pond near the little cottage he shared with his father, mother, and Liam at the edge of their village. Though their father had often been gone, his mother loved to go on walks with her boys to the pond or down paths through the little forest glade nearby, to sing to them and tell them stories, or to show them how to bake and tend the vegetable and herb garden she kept. Killian didn’t remember much about her – dark curls, lilting voice, and warm, caring hands – it had been so very long ago, and he had still been so young. What he did remember was how he always wanted to go to the pond. 

He had loved skipping stones on the water, watching the way the breeze ruffled its surface, feeling of the cool water on his feet and ankles when they went wading, and he remembered his awed joy the day they had encountered a mother duck and her young. The little ducklings had seemed as curious about this wide-eyed, dark-haired human boy as he had been about them. Killian had stood ever so still, his ma warning him softly from farther back not to startle them, as one particularly bold duckling paddled its way closer and closer, observing this stranger in its waters. It had tilted its head curiously, and without even realizing it, Killian had done the same. The tiny bird looked so soft and cuddly, still covered in bright downy yellow striped with brown. The little boy he had been couldn’t resist taking one more step closer and stretching out his hand to touch the wild bird. The duckling had hesitated, paused there on the water’s surface, and then Killian had stepped in a hole on the pond bottom, lost his balance, and floundered for a moment before falling down with a splash. When he surfaced just a few seconds later, the duckling had already zipped away to his mother and siblings, startled into keeping his distance by the noise and sudden movement. His ma was at his side in the next moment, asking if he’d hurt himself and gathering him in a hug, soothing his disappointed little sniffles. Liam had shook his head in that superior, big brother way he had begun to take on, smirking when he asked, “What did you think would happen, Kil? It’s a wild thing after all. Wouldn’t have let you just pick it up and cuddle it.”

That night as she stoked the little fire that kept their cottage warm, his ma had tucked him in and stroked her hand through his unruly black hair, humming a gentle little melody as he eyes grew heavy, even while he fought to stay awake just a bit longer. “Don’t you worry, my sweet lad. You keep reaching for the things you love. The most precious treasures are often simple…and fleeting…but don’t let that keep you from holding them while you can.” Her smile was still calm and loving, but even as young as he was, Killian had seen the wistful sadness in her eyes. Though he didn’t understand her words then, he had never forgotten them and had found his life proved them all too true.

When he had become a young naval lieutenant some years later, he had loved the crisp, smart uniform he wore. The bright yellow edging against the dark navy jacket never failed to catch his eye, and he each time they set out on a new mission the donned his uniform with pride. His love of the open water – the way it stretched to the horizon and stirred in the breeze – had never diminished, and was equaled now only by his love of adventure and hopes for glorious service.

The chance to follow his brother, the very fact that Liam had become a captain in the king’s navy, and that he himself had earned the rank of lieutenant, still stirred his blood and made him thrill with pleasure. He did all he could to serve his monarch, his country, and the brother he loved and admired, with good form and faultless obedience. Sometimes, he found himself standing at the bow of the ship awaiting orders, merely tracing the bright yellow line along his cuff in admiring disbelief while they put out to see.

It was only when Liam was lost to him forever, taken from him by a despicable poison and treacherous king, and the starched naval jacket had been thrown into the waves as he swore himself to piracy, that Killian ceased to be drawn to the color.

From there it had been all about gold, the deeper, richer sheen of the coins they took as he and his crew boarded other ships and took their haul for their own. He never looked or felt more a pirate than when he dug his hand into the treasure chest of a conquered ship and held a handful of the glittering doubloons. Bringing that first coin to his nose, almost as if he could catch the scent of the food and ale it would buy, the bath and the fresh, clean fabric of the new clothes they would all be wearing thanks to their spoils, gave him the closest to a feeling of pride and accomplishment he could achieve by then. 

Contrary to popular belief, it was never about growing rich or striking fear; instead each pile of gold amassed meant longer before they would have to attack again, another stretch of time he could know his men were cared for, that his ship – Liam’s ship ¬– would be kept in top condition, and that he would not have to wound or kill to see it done. The bright young lieutenant with dreams of honor and heroism still lie beneath the surface of the hurting, vengeful pirate. A strike against the king made it enough to keep him going, but the tempting sheen of gold never equaled the cheery yellow he once delighted in.

When Emma had appeared to him that day in the Enchanted Forest, standing over him with distrusting eyes and hands on hips as he was pulled from under the bodies of Cora’s victims, he had been struck almost immediately by her pale halo of hair and how much she looked like a brilliant warrior angel. Nothing she had done after that – not grabbing him and putting a knife to his throat, not threatening to leave him tied to a tree for the ogres, not even her double crossing him atop the beanstalk – had eased his awe and attraction even slightly…

All these memories flash through his mind in brief instants as Emma tackles him to her bed in her parents’ loft, trembling with relief and enthusiasm as her arms wrap around him and hold on tight, that glorious blonde hair cascading down to hide both their faces in flowing waves.

When they finally sit up again, still so close their foreheads practically rest against each other, Killian can see she is struggling to say something, biting her lip and looking at him as though she fears he will disappear again right before her eyes. He waits with baited breath, unable to stop stroking his good hand through her bright, lovely hair, nor to tear his eyes from her beloved face. He senses what Emma wants to say, but he will not push her.

Her eyes lower then, looking almost ashamed of herself, and when she does speak, thanking him for the sacrifice he made in the Author’s alternate universe, Killian knows it is not what she intended to tell him. He cannot hide a second’s dismay in his gaze, but it passes quickly. As he has told Emma all along, he’s a patient man. After so many years lost in pain and anger, unloved and unloving, hopelessly sure that would never change, he can wait for Emma to say the words he already knows she feels. Gazing on his brilliant, shining lass, Killian smiles at her easily, letting her know it is alright and that he understands.

He wants to hold onto her light as long as he can. She is the pale, yellow sun who has guided him from the long, dark night his soul was lost in, and he will follow her to the ends of the earth, wherever she wishes to go. She is the greatest treasure he has ever found. Granted, he has long desired to speak the words locked within his heart, but surely now that Rumple and the Author have been defeated, they will have time. Until then, he will continue to show his golden princess just how much it means to him that she has brought brightness and joy back into his life.


	7. The Lonely Never Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one is not so much Captain Swan as it is Captain Book / Captain Beauty friendship, but it will always hold a special place in my heart. I loved the friendship Killian and Belle forged in the unseen moments and the few reflections of that bond we got onscreen (and yes, I will always wish there had been more). It takes place post-Season 4, after Emma took on the Darkness and Killian was desperate to find her again and help her however he could. Of course he would go to his friend for help with research, some soothing tea, and his worries and fears…

Rest doesn’t come easily – or at all – when his Swan is lost somewhere none of them can follow. One week, and then two, pass with no sign of Emma, no response when they finally risk attempting to summon her with the dagger, and no leads on how to get hold of a portal even when they know where to follow her. It wears on Killian Jones in a way not even ages as the fearsome Captain Hook did. Sleep eludes him, bringing only horrible nightmares when he does manage to close his eyes, visions of Emma in torment and always just beyond his grasp. He is unable to help her waking or sleeping, and the exhaustion paints dark, purple bruises beneath his eyes that even his pirate liner cannot hide, making Snow meet his gaze with pity over the breakfast table at the loft. He can tell she wants to mother him, try to make him feel better, almost as she would do for her daughter, and it twists his gut just that much more. He is not the only one in pain; the prince and princess have lost their daughter yet again, and they are left with the broken man she chose and their own regrets.

He had followed Emma’s family home that first night after she left them standing aghast in the middle of the street staring at the dagger which now bore her name. David had insisted Killian shouldn’t be alone right then, and when Henry was told what had happened, he wanted Killian to stay with them as well. He hadn’t had the heart to deny their wishes, and honestly, left alone he knew he would either return to the excessive comfort of rum or try to use the dagger to summon her to him the first chance he got – whether it was safe for either of them or not. Most days he accompanies Dave to the station and attempts to help Emma’s father pick up the slack by filing or answering the phones, but the fact that the only empty desk for him to sit in is hers makes even that a painful place to be. Sometimes he escapes to the Jolly for a few hours, seeking the quiet calm that he has always found on her decks staring out at the waves and feeling a cool wind in his face, but even there peace is in short supply. So for fear of what he might fall into and wanting to be available the moment they know a course of action, he has stayed in the loft that was Emma’s home with the family she had just begun to let herself love.

To his complete surprise, Snow had insisted he could bunk in Swan’s room. He doesn’t know if it is because he is the closest thing to her daughter she has now and so seeks anything she can do to cheer him, or if she senses how desperately he needs to be in Emma’s space, as near any semblance of her as he possibly can be. Whatever the reasoning, staying in her room, seeing all her things, is both a comfort and a torture. He simply wants her back here where she belongs.

This particular night, almost three weeks after Emma’s departure, drags on just like the many others before it. Killian stares at the ceiling, watching the moon’s glow wash a path of eerie light over the walls and ceiling. Closing his eyes and slowing his breathing prove fruitless while her enticing honey-cinnamon scent on the pillows both comforts and haunts him.

With a frustrated growl, Killian sits up, flings the covers away, and rakes his hand through his mussed hair. Sleep is not coming, and he can’t pace the floors without waking everyone else, so he must get out. Pulling on the pants he flung over her desk chair mere hours before and donning his more modern leather jacket over the white T-shirt he wears without bothering to change further, he steps out of the room, quickly descends the stairs, and slips out the door onto the quiet streets of Storybrooke.

Having no specific path in mind, only knowing that he must move, must burn off this frustration and agitated energy he feels, Killian begins to wander aimlessly down the main street. It is the wee, dark hours of early morning, and he would wager that no one else should be awake to wonder at his strange behavior regardless of where his footsteps lead him.

However, as he reaches the clock tower at the town’s center, he sees a pale light burning toward the back of the library beneath it. Curious, he ventures closer, sure that his eyes must be deceiving him. Normally, even Belle with her tendency to get wrapped up in whatever tome she is reading, would surely be asleep by now, and if not, she would usually be in her own upstairs apartments above her place of employ. Suddenly, wanting the companionship of some other sleepless soul, the chance that she could have discovered something helpful to their search, or the possibility that something is amiss and his friend in some sort of trouble, combine to bring Killian right up to the door of the library and have him rapping the curved edge of his hook on the solid wooden door.

At first, he hears nothing and receives no answer; in this town, Belle may quite rightly have more sense than to open the door for anyone knocking in the middle of the night. But then he thinks he hears shuffling footsteps coming closer and muttering in her adorably unique accent, before hearing the lock click and seeing a sliver of Belle’s face peer out of the cracked open door.

“Oh, Killian,” she says, looking both relieved and confused and opening the entryway further, gesturing that he’s welcome to come in. “It’s you. What brings you here so late?”

He scratches behind his ear, looking from her earnest face to the floor and the toes of his boots. “I couldn’t sleep…nothing so unusual there…but I needed to get out. As I was walking, I saw your light on, and I …um…wanted to make sure you were well, Lass. One never knows what might happen next in this place,” he finishes lamely, feeling utterly ridiculous.

Belle, true to form and her kind nature, gives him a small smile and ushers him further into the library, leading him through the maze of book stacks to the very back, where she has piled several thick dusty tomes on a table, next to a lamp which no doubt provided the light he saw from outside. “Well, you’re welcome to join me. Truth be told, I couldn’t sleep either, and thought I might as well do some more research.”

“Aye, I can help with that,” Killian affirms with a quick nod, seating himself near the stack of books as well, and looking to her for further instruction.  
Once more in her original chair, Belle begins sifting through the books, handing certain volumes to him and speaking rapidly as she does. “I know that we’ve all done some looking and thinking into the more well-known stories of Arthur, Merlin, and Camelot, but I still don’t think any of us really know where Camelot is located, if it can be reached, or if that is certainly where Merlin can still be found. Nor do we know if that is where Emma went…” she trails off here, her eyes finding Killian’s across the stacks of books between them, hesitating as if afraid she’s inflicted an injury by speaking Emma’s name.

Killian merely swallows hard and nods to her, indicating both that he understands and that he wishes for her to continue. As she speaks, he notices how drawn and pale Belle’s face truly is. Her usually rosy cheeks and happy, inviting smile are gone, replaced by a softer, sadder tone and expression. Not only is she here burning the midnight oil trying to help them find a way to the Savior, but she has lost her husband, her True Love – whether Rumplestiltskin ever wakes or not. This woman before him, so good hearted and compassionate, has been dealt more trial and pain in her young life than any one person deserves, some of it by his own hand, and Killian is struck with a wash of compassion and gratitude for her.

Belle’s explanation comes to an end without him having heard the middle of her statement, “…and so I thought I would look into some of the more obscure texts that I found lying around the back of Rumple’s shop, along with several British histories and books of legend and lore. If you want to take those, and I’ll continue with these…Who knows? Perhaps we’ll find something of value?”

Killian nods his assent, but before they both bend over the books in front of them, he reaches across to lightly rest a hand atop hers, wanting to offer even a moment’s assurance and comfort if he can. It is hard to speak around the lump in his throat and words do not seem adequate to express the thoughts swirling in his brain, so he settles on a simple, “Thank you, Belle,” and holds her eyes until he hopes she is sure of the depth and sincerity in his humble speech.

She clears her throat, glances away for a moment, and when she looks back at him, Killian sees that she is blinking back tears before answering. “It’s not easy, is it?” she states haltingly, “Loving someone whom you fear is no longer the person you fell in love with?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that, knowing Belle understands this dilemma more than anyone else could, but unable to even consider Emma no longer being the brilliant, heroic lass he has always known her to be. He cannot even entertain the idea of her being twisted by evil into something more powerful and horrible than she would ever wish them to see or he will simply go mad. He looks down and shakes the frightening image of a dark, vengeful fallen angel from his mind, unable to form an answer.

Belle’s voice breaks back in, softly, placatingly. “I don’t think Emma will be the same as Rumple, though,” she continues, to which he meets her eyes again hopefully. “I’ve spent too many years of my life loving a deeply flawed man, trying to cling to that bit of him I glimpsed years ago hiding behind the beast.” She sighs. “Rumple has always acted out of fear – and desire for power to curb that fear – Emma took on the curse out of love. She did it to save the rest of us. I don’t think the Darkness will have as easy a time taking her over as it did with Rumple.”

Killian squeezes her hand, and Belle squeezes back, each offering a bit of solidarity and support to each other where more words would fall short. He is grateful for her assessment of the situation, and he hopes she is right. This petite, soft-spoken librarian has faced so much more than most would assume by looking at her. Belle French is made of tough mettle, and he hopes that somewhere in her near future some happiness and honest love will finally be her reward.

He bends his head to return to his reading, hoping that this will be the volume to yield the clue they need. Belle stands, however, and asks, “Why don’t I brew us some tea to drink as we’re reading?”

“Aye, Lass, that sounds lovely,” he says, craving the small bit of normalcy that simply reading and sipping a cup of tea would offer. Regardless of the urgency in their task and the importance of the subject matter, at least he feels he is no longer alone in this bleak night turned early morning.

Belle gets up and moves away. He hears her light tread on the stairs up to her apartment, and the distant sounds of someone running water and filling a tea kettle. Returning to his reading, Killian feels his eyelids growing suspiciously heavy, more than they have done in some time; in truth, since Emma has been gone. Determinedly he tries to push on, finding his place on the page once more, now that he has at least found some useful outlet for his insomnia.

However, when Belle returns with two steaming cups of chamomile tea, she is at first startled and then feels a rush of sympathetic affection to find Killian asleep with his head in the book she gave him and good hand clutched around what appears to be Emma’s swan pendant. Settling back into their research, she hopes the captain will not be troubled by anymore nightmares this night, now that he has finally found a bit of sleep.


	8. Tokens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (During the six weeks of peace before the Queens of Darkness appeared…)

As night falls and the stars come out, Killian Jones and Emma Swan are together atop the bluff outside of town, the same place Emma had fled when her powers went haywire at the Snow Queen’s prompting, when she had nearly harmed her father, and run from them all in fear of what she might do next. However, on this night, with the Dark One defeated in his nefarious plot and banished from Storybrooke for nearly a week, the hurt and doubt which Emma had felt the last time she was here is no longer present. Both the princess and her pirate lean against the hood of her Bug and look out on the moon and stars lighting the sky and the beacons of the town still lit below. 

Emma lets out a light, easy sigh and leans her head on Killian’s shoulder, snuggling against his side and entwining the fingers of her left hand with his right where it rests on his denim-clad thigh. Resisting the urge to practically purr in contentment and curl into his body like a kitten on a sunny windowsill, Emma lets her eyes flutter closed, truly enjoying a quiet moment. She refuses to spoil this evening by thinking of how close she came to losing Killian when Gold had held his heart, what sort of revenge that imp is undoubtedly plotting even now as he seeks a way back from his forced exile to the outside world, or even from dwelling on the frightening ramifications to her no-longer-so-walled heart when simply being near her pirate can calm her fears so utterly.

However, she does shiver involuntarily at once more remembering the image of Killian on his knees, crying out as Gold attempted to finish him while she stood frozen, forced to watch helplessly. 

“Are you cold, Milady?” Killian asks, his voice deep and throaty, the rasp of it as he tilts his head to search her eyes sending a tremor through her that has nothing to do with the chill in the late February air. His concern for her comfort is sincere, but his question still bears a hint of fond jest. He unclasps their hands to brush a strand of her silky blond hair off her forehead, and then wraps his arm around her shoulder, rubbing her upper arm to warm her, even before she answers.

“Really?” she asks, smirking at him with a head tilt and quirked brow. “You’re really going with the ‘milady’ bit again?”

“It’s what you are, Love,” he murmurs, pulling her just that much closer until their foreheads touch and he can nuzzle his nose against her cheek.

“Ah,” she taunts playfully, reaching a hand up to the bared skin and coarse, dark hair peeking from his opened shirt. “Always the gentleman, aren’t you, Jones?” Her fingers skim lightly along his collarbone, nails scratching through his chest hair and snickering when his breath catches and he swallows hard at the way her fingers continue to trace over his skin.

Her movement is arrested when the tips of her fingers twist in the metal links of the chains he always wears. Continuing to hold his gaze and looking mischievously up at him from under her long eyelashes, Emma twirls the charms at the end of his necklace around her fingers, then purses her lips and studies him thoughtfully.

“Does the princess have a question?” Killian speaks lowly, his voice steady once more and winding around her like an intimate caress.

“You’ve worn these as long as I’ve known you,” she muses, letting the different trinkets play through her fingers. “Pirate spoils?” she quips.

He shrugs, a look of pleasant boast painted across his handsome features. “Aye, mostly,” he confirms.

“Mostly?” She finds herself genuinely curious now that she has begun to learn a bit more about the physical emblems that make up the legendary Captain Hook.

Killian glances down at her graceful hands as Emma examines first the heavy skull, a piece liberated from a chest of loot on the first ship he ever took as a pirate, then the dagger he’d had fashioned after Milah’s death – worn as a reminder of the one weakness his Crocodile had, of his vow to find a way to skin his love’s murderer – and finally, she lingers on the third charm, holding it between her thumb and first finger. “This one too?” she whispers, her voice softer, no longer teasing, her eyes deep and full of sympathy, as if she knows this third charm, usually hidden by the other two, is the one of real value to him.

His smile falters a bit at the corners and a momentary fog of melancholy clouds the piercing blue of her captain’s eyes. “No, Lass,” he whispers, barely audible, “that particular token was a gift.”

She brings the hand that isn’t holding onto his necklace up beneath his chin, tilting his face back to hers. Her voice is equally soft and knowing when she asks, “From Milah?” The name of his long lost first love, though inked on his arm in plain view, is not one often spoken between them. Emma respects the other woman’s importance in Killian’s past and what she once meant to him, and would never try to erase Milah’s memory, but she does wish she could take the bitterness, isolation, and pain he had suffered at Milah’s death from her pirate’s psyche.

No words are needed here, and Killian merely nods his head as if hearing her unspoken wish and grateful for the sentiment. In fact, the awe and thankfulness that fill his eyes do something to her soul; Emma feels her chest expanding to hold the swell of emotion.

Raising the charm to her lips, Emma presses a kiss to it, her eyes never leaving his, trying to convey that she honors his first love, that she understands his pain all too well, and that she is glad he had someone to love him in that time when he was so miserably angry, adrift, and alone.

Killian catches her hand before she can pull away and works his fingers down to her wrist, gently pushing back both her jacket and sweater sleeves to trail the bootlace she always wears wrapped around it. “You carry treasures of your own,” he offers gently, not to push, but to let her know that her losses and memories will be cared for and honored just as his have been. “Perhaps that is why you are so adept at understanding mine.”

Emma’s eyes follow his long, agile fingers as he runs them along the makeshift leather bracelet. Without stopping to consider, she simply allows this one secret out, long tired of being so guarded – at least with him – and ready to let her pirate in. “This was Graham’s,” she answers with a short bob of her head acknowledging his hinted question.

“The Sheriff before you?” Killian asks quizzically. “Were you two…?” he doesn’t continue, choking off his train of thought as if afraid to overstep, but his worry is clear, as is his true question.

“We weren’t a couple,” she corrects, shaking her head slowly, and a contemplative, wistful look crosses her face for a moment as she studies Killian’s features and traces a hand over his dark, furrowed brow until his expression clears. “But he was my friend. He gave me a chance when I first came to Storybrooke for Henry…when many others wouldn’t have. Graham gave me a job as his deputy…and a legitimate reason to stay in town – one that Regina couldn’t do anything about.”

“Good man,” Killian says, toasting this stranger he has never even met without question, simply on the knowledge that the man had been good to his love. “If you were such compatriots, why aren’t you still?” he asks after another pause. “Did he not return with the second curse? I don’t believe I have ever seen him here. Was there a falling out?”

Emma swallows over the monstrous lump that almost immediately constricts her throat upon picturing that night in the deserted Sheriff’s station and Graham’s collapsed, lifeless body on the floor. Her voice trembles when she answers, twining her fingers with Killian’s and squeezing gently, needing to pull strength from his support. Even after all the time that has passed, even if there is no good way in this world to seek justice for Graham’s murder, no way to avenge his death without irreparably wounding Henry once again at his adoptive mother’s past cruel depravity, it doesn’t make it any easier when she remembers that Graham was killed in cold blood and has seemingly been forgotten, his murder going unpunished. Clearing her throat, she does her best to explain. “You’ve never met him… because he’s dead…H-he was killed because of m-me…Back before the curse was broken, before I accepted that all of this…” she sweeps her arm out to indicate Storybrooke spread below them, “was real. Before I understood what had really happened. By- by the time I realized what had actually been done to him…it was too late. I still don’t know what I could really do to his killer…but he’s gone and nothing will bring him back.”

She falls silent at this, biting her lip and breathing in several steadying breaths through her nose. Killian’s hook now runs lightly over the leather laces, and it is a soothing, strangely healing sensation. She can’t say she will not always miss the kind sheriff with the messy mop of curls and the goofy smile, will not rage inside at the injustice he suffered, will not wish desperately that he had lived to see the curse broken and to find freedom and healing and be recognized as the hero he was. Still, she senses her lingering regrets over Graham are quite akin to what Killian has for Milah and the horrible way she died, only perhaps Killian’s are even more scarring because they were deeply in love. Graham was gone before she had really explored that possibility.

“I don’t mean to press a painful topic, Lass,” Killian breaks in, smoothing his hook through her hair before he uses it to push the blond strands back over her shoulder and press the lightest of kisses to her temple. “However, I am still not sure I comprehend what brought about his demise. If you wish not to speak of it, do not feel that you must, but I only wish to help...”

Emma shakes her head, letting him know his questions aren’t the problem, and that she is willing to tell him, merely trying to brace herself and find the best way. “In the Enchanted Forest, Graham was called the Huntsman. The Evil Queen ordered him to kill my mother and return with her heart as proof that the job was done. But when the time came, he just couldn’t bring himself to kill Snow White, so he let her go and brought back the heart of a deer instead. Regina saw through his ruse, and…she took Graham’s heart…and she…k-kept him in the castle as her slave.” Emma pauses, wetting her lips nervously and darting her eyes to Killian’s face, realizing this must strike painfully close to what he had so recently endured with Gold. “While they were here in Storybrooke, no one remembered…but she still had his heart… and he was… well, he was under her control. When he disobeyed… and finally stood up for himself to her…she-she crushed it…and he died…”

Killian sucks in a sharp breath at her last admission, stiffening as if slapped when her words trail off. Finally, he wraps both arms around her, relaxing once more as he gathers her close. “That makes sense,” he says at last, so softly that Emma strains to hear it. “When the Crocodile crushed Milah’s heart, she fell almost instantly. She barely had time to whisper that she loved me before she was gone.”

“Killian, I’m sorry,” Emma begins, “I should have thought –“

“No, Love, please don’t apologize. I should have known that as well as we understand each other, and with the painful pasts we both share, it makes a perverse sort of sense that we would each have suffered just such a horrific loss.”

She only nods, still hearing Graham’s whispered “I remember” and his beatific smile through teary eyes as he had thanked her.

Killian is the one who now puts his fingers beneath her chin and tips her face up to his. “You were with him when he died, weren’t you, Swan?” he asks solemnly, already seeing the answer in her haunted eyes.

“I was,” she responds simply. “Regina and I had fought, and he was patching me up. We…we kissed…and he was thanking me. He had just started to remember who he really was. And then he…he just collapsed. I tried to bring him back…but he was gone.”

Neither of them speak for several long, silent moments. The silence is much more soothing than awkward though as each draws comfort from the other. 

“I am glad you had this Graham for the time that you did,” Killian finally says, breaking the quiet. “He sounds like a truly honorable man – and a good friend – which you must have needed, taking a stand alone against the Evil Queen as you did.”

“Honestly?” she questions, searching his eyes for resentment or jealousy, but finding only understanding and love in those mesmerizing blue depths.

“Aye, Lass. Honestly.” He gently fingers the loops of leather again, delightful little tendrils of warmth trailing up her arm from every place his touch connects. Shaking her head slightly, Emma finds herself wondering – not for the first time – how this man can possibly be real. He may be wounded and flawed, but so is she, and his jagged edges seem to fit right next to hers and fill in the cracks that have always held her back, kept her alone. Killian may have called himself a villain, may have done things he isn’t proud of, but at his core, he is brave and true. He holds the very heart she has always needed to support her own, battered and bruised as it may be.

Just as she doesn’t begrudge him his love for Milah and the right to mourn her, he absolves her of any guilt she feels for still harboring respect, affection, and gratitude to the former sheriff, her friend Graham. Emma glances down at the bootlaces on her wrist once more, touched that Killian is still stroking her skin there and drawing away hurt with each pass of his warm fingers over her wrist. Their tokens, and the people those tokens represent, have made she and her pirate who they are, but finding someone who will guard those memories as well as helping to make new, happier ones was a gift neither had dared hope for until finding each other.


	9. I'll Be There to Carry You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, at this point something as simple as hearing a song can prompt Captain Swan thoughts and feels. I am so worried about what the darkness is going to do to Emma before they find her and she can get free of it. I can’t help thinking the effects are going to be devastating and long lasting as well. The one comfort I do get out of this is thinking that she will need Killian more than ever and that he is going to be the one to help her heal. I don’t know if enjoy is quite the right word for something so angsty, but I do hope you’ll all find this engrossing and let me know if you have any comments.
> 
> The lyrics at the beginning and end of this story are from “I’ll Be” by Reba McEntire.

“When darkness falls upon your heart and soul,  
I’ll be the light that shines for you.  
When you forget how beautiful you are,  
I’ll be there to remind you.  
When you can’t find your way, I’ll find my way to you.  
When troubles come around, I will come to you…”

 

She is running herself ragged. Everyone can see it; at this point the signs are plain as day in the pallor of her once-glowing face, the dull, limp ponytail she constantly pulls her previously shining, silky golden hair into, the worry lines that never quite leave her brow, and the tense stiffness in her shoulders.

They had been so thrilled when Emma returned to them, the darkness within her vanquished, their princess alive and with them once more, their world safe again, that everything not being quite right had escaped notice at first. When Killian started to feel Emma was troubled and holding back, that she seemed pained and uncomfortable in her own skin, he had at first castigated himself for imagining things in his worry.

Now though, as the days and weeks stretch on, he finds he can no longer ignore what is right in front of him. Even if no one has spoken it aloud, Killian can see he is not the only one worried for Emma. The concern and helpless wish to make things right is evident in the way Dave sometimes reaches out a hand to hold Emma back when she rushes to take every single call the station receives or make an extra patrol loop rather than sit still for a single second or be forced to talk. The Prince’s hand will pause in midair, and then before making contact with his daughter’s arm, fall uselessly back to his side. His mouth presses into a thin, worried line to hold in the words he aches to offer her as he watches her retreating back. It’s in the way Henry trails off, his eyes looking confused and lost at the end of telling his mother about his day or relating the tale in some book he has read, after realizing that she hasn’t heard a word and her eyes are staring right through him into the invisible distance, like she isn’t with there with him at all. It shows up as hurt on Snow’s face when Emma refuses to hold her baby brother – won’t even go near him – often making a panicked excuse and fleeing the loft as soon as possible when someone offers to let her hold the little prince and see how big he’s grown or tries to get her to talk to him in cutesy baby babble. Upon seeing Ruby’s mouth fall open in shock as Emma slams down her mug of cocoa and runs from the diner at a joke that strikes her wrong, her pirate starts to fear her suffering is growing worse instead of better.

Killian knows it isn’t callous anger or indifference causing his Swan to act this way. He can see it’s far from how she wishes to behave with those she loves the most. Yet, he is lost as to how he can help his hurting lass. He would only be lying to himself if he denied the stab of pain he feels any time he tries to pull her into his arms, to hold and soothe her. Emma doesn’t exactly push him away, but the stiff, unyielding tension she uses to hold herself back when she once would have melted and leaned into his embrace, and the way she trembles, practically vibrating with something he can’t quite name certainly isn’t helping either of them, and he has learned to let her go with a sigh, wracking his brain for some way to reach her, to bring back the part of his love which is still lost.

~~~~~~00~00~00~00~00~00~00~00~00~00~~~~~~

As he walks slowly toward the harbor near the edge of town after darkness falls one misty, rain-soaked night, Killian stuffs his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, eyes alternating between the ground and the few houses near the water. Though he hasn’t admitted as much to himself, he’s seeking the cottage Emma and Henry have recently rented – just needing to see their light and feel that everything is okay, for the night at least – when something catches his ear.

At first, it sounds like wood hitting against wood, almost as if someone is picking up logs or planks and throwing them back down or swinging them against something solid. The racket makes no sense but is unmistakable for any normal noises of the surf crashing against the beach, the creak and rock of the boats into the dock, or gulls wheeling and crying out in the sky. Altering his roundabout course to his ship and moving toward the sounds to investigate, Killian realizes that he is drawing closer to Swan’s home.

He picks up his pace when the noise ceases, not sure whether the quiet bears worse or better tidings. At the edge of her small yard he pauses, as he has not been invited and no lights are lit but the small one Emma called a “security light” on the house’s back corner. It is only when he hears a low, heartrending whimper, what he can tell is someone crying, that he jolts forward and turns the corner of the house to the backyard, desperate to reach his love and unwilling to let her fall to pieces alone, even if she wishes for no one to see her tears.

The sight that greets him takes his breath away, the sight of her freezing him for a moment. Emma has sunk to her knees, head bowed, shoulders shaking, slumped over in defeat. Huddled near the small woodpile she and Henry have been stockpiling for the winter, it is clear that the small logs and kindling scattered around her and haphazardly littering the small outdoor deck were the cause of the sounds he had heard.

Killian remembers all too well the fits of rage after Liam’s senseless death, after the loss of his hand, after each failed attempt to finish the Dark One, and he can see all too clearly the release Emma must have needed to start flinging things around; she’d had to take wild action or explode. Drawing nearer, he can’t help reaching out to his princess, kneeling beside her and running his good hand over her head, smoothing over her hair and down her back. 

She lifts her face enough to peek at him with tearstained cheeks, heaving in ragged gulps of air before shaking her head frantically and backing away. When their eyes meet fully, the lively green of hers is dark, clouded with hurt and so terribly haunted that Killian can hardly bear to hold her gaze. Her pain physically wounds him. She never deserved this. She took on that crippling darkness for all of them, and this is her reward. How is it fair that even after she has won, she is still being kept from those she risked herself to save? She has come back to them, but not fully. This Emma is not the same daring lass with sharp wit, sarcastic barbs, and an easy laugh. He doesn’t know where that Emma has gone, or how to break through the shell of her before him.

“You should go, Killian,” she whispers, both her voice and her eyes miserable as she gazes on him like she has been thirsting for the sight, even as she tries to send him away. “I may not be the Dark One anymore, but I’m dangerous. I’ve hurt people…and I’m too worried about losing control to risk it. Please…just leave…before something happens to you too…”

Her eyes leave his as she drops her head, leaning forward and curling into herself as if trying to become invisible. The broken, fearful woman crouched before him, shaking from exertion and shivering in the evening chill, is so different from the brash, take charge sheriff she had been when he met her and the sort of unstoppable avenging angel the darkness had nearly made her. All Emma seems to be now is tired – so weary and alone. Killian has to go to her no matter what she says she wants or what she thinks will protect him.

Gathering her in his arms, Killian picks Emma up easily, telling himself to make sure she has a full, hearty meal soon, as lifting her seems quite effortless. He slips in with her through the sliding glass door to the deck and makes his way to the couch, fully intending to start a fire burning in the hearth and get her warm, Emma pushes her hands against his chest weakly, doing nothing to create any real distance between their bodies. “Killian…no…come on…” she argues listlessly, no real fire in her words as tremors of cold run through her.

Sitting down on her couch, but keeping her held tightly on his lap and pulling a quilt off the back of it to cover them both, Killian shushes her, using his hook deftly to smooth her damp hair out of her eyes. “I’m staying, Swan. You may as well stop fighting me.”

Emma’s voice is so soft, so plaintive when she speaks again, muffling her words in his shoulder while she refuses to meet his eyes. “I’m afraid,” she admits haltingly, and he knows how hard an admission that is for her to make. “What if I really am a monster?”

Killian keeps his voice equally low, trying to hold her close enough that some of his love and some measure of comfort will seep into her veins. He cannot keep from swaying gently, his lips brushing against her temple. “Darling, that is not possible. You are a hero, Love – the Savior. You brought light back into my life when I believed it would never hold anything good again. And I’m just one example whose life you have changed. Something awful has happened to you, Emma, but you are far from a monster.”

She sniffles, her voice stammering. “You – you weren’t there. You d-don’t know…” She shakes her head, sitting up and trying to clamor away from him again. 

He wraps his arms around her more tightly, refusing to let her retreat. She needs to stay near him; both so he can restore more of her body heat, and so he can calm her down. “Swan, please, tell me what happened,” he urges, rubbing his good hand up and down her arm bracingly.

“Mom w-was trying to f-finish making dinner and …she asked me to h-hold Neal. I w-warned her I shouldn’t but…s-she wouldn’t stop. I could f-feel myself getting upset…and I put my h-hand out…just to k-keep her away…b-but the glasses on the table sh-shattered. A piece went flying and c-cut Snow’s cheek. She s-said it was fine, b-but it could have…gotten Neal. It c-could have been so much worse. No one’s safe around m-me anymore. I just…lost control…and they’re n-nothing I can do to stop it.”

She pushes against him suddenly enough and hard enough that she breaks free, only to fall from his lap and land hard on the floor at his feet. Emma still won’t meet his eyes, and she quickly tries to scoot backward out of his reach.

Killian is quick though and catches her arm, stopping her motion. “Swan, wait,” he begs, not sure what else to do, only that he must reach her. He is certain that no one Emma loves is blaming her, or that they find her such a danger they fear being around her. He knows no one who cares for her is calling her a monster, and they would not want her to be in such agony over a simple mistake. “Love, you cannot keep doing this to yourself. It was an accident.”

She lets out a bone-deep sigh, at last raising her eyes, still welling with tears and red-rimmed, to his. “You aren’t afraid of me?”

Reeling her back in, Killian pulls gently until Emma is back on the couch and curled so closely into him that he can cradle her at his side once more. “Never, Emma…I could never fear you. Nor would your family.”

“They have before,” she murmurs, “and I can’t even blame them.”

“Lass, they wish nothing more than to see you well and whole again, as do I. You sacrificed so much for all of us. We only want to help you.” He strokes his hand over her cheek, gently cradling the back of her head to draw her forward and place a brief, chaste kiss to her lovely mouth.

Emma’s eyes flutter closed and she accepts the kiss, letting out a shaky breath and seeming to steady herself. Her next words escape on a gentle sigh. “You’ll never stop loving me, will you, Killian? Even if I’m never quite the same?”

“You will be, Emma, given time. But regardless, I will be right here. As I told you some time ago, I’m in this for the long haul.”

His words bring out a tiny smile and a breath of laughter from her, just as he had hoped, and Killian grins back, loving even the smallest hint of relief in her face and the touch of brightness to her eyes.

“Then just hold me,” she says, tucking herself even nearer to her pirate’s warmth, leaning her head on his shoulder, “and I’ll try to believe it too.”

 

“…And when you feel your faith is running low,  
I’ll be there to believe in you…

I’ll be the sun when your heart’s filled with rain.  
I’ll be the one to chase the rain away.

I’ll be your shoulder when you need someone to lean on.  
Be your shelter.  
When you need someone to see you through,  
I’ll be there to carry you.  
I’ll be there.  
I’ll be the rock that will be strong for you,  
The one that will hold onto you.  
When you feel that rain falling down.  
When there’s nobody else around, I’ll be...”


	10. Good Morning Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This was originally written in the summer before Season 5 and the Dark Swan arc… I was watching “Runaway Bride”, and the quoted lines that start this story made me imagine a super-sweet Captain Swan scene. Seriously, this might induce sugar shock, but I couldn’t resist. I’ve been worrying too much lately over the angst that I know is coming and needed some fluff. 
> 
> Of course I don’t own them, but I hope you enjoy!!

“You want a man who will lead you down the beach with his hand over your eyes, just so you can discover the feel of sand under your feet. You want a guy that’ll wake you up at dawn. He’s just bursting to talk to you, can’t wait another minute just to find out what you’ll say.” – Runaway Bride

 

Blinking her eyes at the sun’s encroaching brightness that rouses her, Emma Swan yawns, making to stretch her arms half-heartedly, still wanting to sleep instead of wake, and moves to roll over in bed. She doesn’t get far before bumping into something – no, someone – solid, curled up snugly at her back. There is an arm wrapped around her, she realizes as consciousness penetrates the sleepy fog of her brain more fully, and she smiles, sinking back into the safe, solid warmth, remembering just who is sharing the bed with her and holding her in his arms.

“Morning, Love,” Killian Jones’ seductively warm voice purrs lowly in her ear, raspy with sleep still and sending little shivers trickling down her spine as he nuzzles his face into her neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin he encounters there. 

Images from the night before – their wedding night, at long last – race vividly through her mind. She can still see all their loved ones gathered on the deck of the Jolly Roger as they were pronounced man and wife, the sunset bursting across the horizon just as they sealed their vows with a kiss, the Hawaiian luau themed reception on the beach, with the dwarves manning the fire and their meal turning on the spit, their first dance together, then Emma dancing with her father and both of them chuckling affectionately, incredibly touched, to see Killian bowing to Snow and offering her his hand, her mother graciously accepting it, and the two of them beginning to dance as well right alongside. Belle and Henry had both offered toasts that brought joyful tears to Emma’s eyes; she had never thought she could have this kind of love and belonging. Regina, as a wedding present from she, Robin, and Roland, had conjured an incredible light show with magical fireworks streaking across the night sky as the party broke up near one a.m., and judging by the exclamations and applause, everyone else was as dazzled and impressed as Emma had been.

The memory that lingers as Emma rolls over to gaze into her new husband’s eyes and run her fingers through his hair, is of when everyone had left them. Killian had taken her hand in his one, interlocking their fingers, neatly carrying her strappy white sandals on his hook (after urging her to take them off so she could feel the sand between her toes), as they had walked together back to his ship and his cabin onboard. It was one of those good moments her father had urged her to look for – one of the best she had ever experienced – and Emma felt that if her magic would allow her to freeze time, she would have stopped it right there on the beach with Killian forever.

Her husband however seems completely alert and ready to go, despite the early hour. “You’re awake at last, Darling. I’ve been waiting for you,” he teases, twirling a golden strand of her hair around his finger and eyes twinkling at her rakishly. 

“Were you watching me sleep?” Emma asks with a quirk of her brow, already knowing the answer. “Because some people might find that creepy…”

“I am a pirate,” he reminds her, smirking before pulling her closer, placing a kiss to the tip of her nose and letting his hand lazily trail over her skin, raising goose bumps on every inch of her he touches. “I know well enough to keep an eye on my treasure. And when I woke at first light with you beside me, I had to be sure I wasn’t dreaming. Emma, to think that you, the most precious jewel I have ever laid eyes on in any realm, have consented to be my wife…What man could sleep after that?”

She rolls her eyes at his extravagant charm; his words thrilling through her, no matter how ridiculously she thinks he’s exaggerating. “Some of us,” she smiles back at him with coy insinuation, “might have been a bit tired.” In fact, she is decidedly stiff and pleasantly wrung out in ways she couldn’t have imagined in her wildest dreams, but she isn’t going to admit it to him just yet.

“Have I worn you out already, wife?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously in the way that has sent fire through her veins since the day they climbed the beanstalk together. “I had so much fun planned for us today on the start of our honeymoon.”

Emma can’t help the way her heart flutters at the heat in his voice and her breathing goes fast and thready. Reaching out, she rests her hand on Killian’s bare chest, unable to resist stroking her fingers over the coarse dark hair and warm, taut muscles. Watching the bright, sky blue of his eyes go darker with want as she does is just an added bonus.

Killian finally catches her wrist, pulling her hand away and bringing it to his lips to lightly kiss each knuckle, one at a time, his eyes never blinking, never letting hers go. He practically croons his next words against the back of her hand. “In truth, my Love, I merely wanted to see your eyes the moment you woke, to speak to you in the very first second of this morning. It was all I could do to wait and simply watch you sleep.”

Emma wants to tell him he can’t seriously be that besotted. No one is that interesting when they first wake up – certainly not her. But she looks back into his eyes – really looks – and what she finds steals her breath. The depth of love which shines out at her, the devotion clear on his face, the support, the encouragement he has always offered her, the way he has kept coming back to her. He has proved to her, that even if she doesn’t understand it, even if she’s not sure why, he loves her beyond all reason, sees the best in her, and will never fail to do so. He is the home she always wished for but never thought she would find. 

It is suddenly clear to Emma Jones that she is as eager as her husband to wake up next to each other for the rest of their lives. Just as Killian had been mere minutes before, she can’t wait to hear what he might say in his gorgeous, velvet voice every morning from now on.


	11. Knight in Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes another little one shot written looking into possibilities for Season 5 as we awaited it (and the trip to Camelot!) the summer before. There’s some Captain Cobra, some Henry and grandpa Charming, some Captain Charming, and some fun with a Knight of the Round Table (They didn’t turn out quite how I imagined them!). Emma is not actually in this one either, though she is their focus and certainly on all of their minds… 
> 
> Enjoy!

“On guard, Sir Knight,” Henry bows as he speaks, just as he has been taught, his voice steady and bold. It reminds Killian and his grandpa Charming, who watch from the side of the practice ring, just how much the young man has matured in the past few months since Emma has been gone. As if Henry hadn’t already been growing like a reed, coming up past both his mothers’ shoulders and his child’s voice gradually deepening, it is now obvious in his very bearing and the hard won wisdom in his youthful gaze.

They are standing in the shadow of King Arthur’s famed castle in Camelot, and the young prince, son of both the Evil Queen and the Savior, is facing off against Sir Bedivere of the Round Table in a friendly practice bout. The tall behemoth of a man is considered one of the best with a blade Arthur has at his disposal – after only Lancelot and Gawain – yet he has also proved kindly and welcoming to the newcomers in his ruler’s kingdom seeking Merlin. Though he would not have had to show such hospitality, nor take of his own time to help them acclimate to this realm and entertain them as they wait for some sign of Emma, Merlin, or the next step on their quest, Bedivere has done so. It hasn’t taken long for Henry to take a liking to this gentle giant either. Emma’s son, with his love of the classic tales and awe over valiant heroes, has befriended each of Arthur’s knights in turn upon meeting them. Still, the boy seems especially fond of gallant, soft spoken but wise, Bedivere. 

The man’s strength and skill have proven the perfect thing to distract Henry from missing his mother and growing ever more worried the longer they have no course of action or any way to find out how Emma is. Taking up the lessons David had started with his grandson long ago, Henry blossoms under the tutelage of an actual knight of the Round Table, proving as quick and agile as Killian himself, the pirate thinks ruefully as he watches their scrimmage. He is also as resourceful, daring, and scrappy as his street smart mother. Killian wonders briefly if Henry will eventually pass the success as a fighter of both his former princely teacher and his current tutor. The more he sees, the more the Captain feels that – if the situation called for it desperately enough – Henry would be willing to scrap the courtly manners that constrain both his grandfather and the knight and fight dirty if he must – as he himself would, and as Emma would too, for that matter.

Still, Bedivere proves a worthy adversary – despite his traditional methods and style. Thrusting forward on the offensive, he pushes Henry back once more, managing the balance between challenging the novice swordsman yet not threatening the young man’s safety, thoroughly impressing Killian as he observes. He is equally thrilled to see the natural aptitude his Swan’s boy possesses, and Henry’s confidence growing. Right before their eyes, bringing the pirate back to the present, Henry swiftly launches his own assault. Having only retreated a few steps, the youth charges forward, slashing a strong blow across the knight’s blade and countering Bedivere’s attack.

The much larger man rears back for a moment, truly taken by surprise, and then nods encouragement, clearly pleased with his pupil. He swings his heavy broadsword once more. This time, however, Henry is clearly ready and not willing to relinquish his advantage. He doesn’t step back, but instead dodges, then dips, still traveling forward, but sliding effortlessly to a knee and striking upwards, under the thrust of the grown knight’s weapon.

Charming whoops in delight at seeing his grandson score a point so definitively, proceeding to tap the point of his sword on the chest plate of Bedivere’s armor before he stands and resets to start again. Killian simply cannot stop the broad grin he feels splitting his face wide with unrestrained glee. That move was not only skillful and effective; it bucked traditional form and decorum, and it was more than a bit reckless. Henry had made a true pirate strike if Killian ever saw one, and it gives the Captain a ridiculous amount of reassurance to see Henry willing to do what he must to survive. He will need that with the danger in his world and the family to which he belongs.

It is just then that they hear Regina’s voice ring out over the courtyard, calling them in to wash up for the evening meal, her tone brooking no refusal. Killian knows the former villainess had hesitated to let Henry take up sword fighting practice in the first place, and they also know better than to antagonize her, no matter how much she has reformed herself. Glancing up the rolling hill to the drawbridge where Regina stands, Roland Hood at her side, clutching to her skirts and gazing up at her adoringly, they wave to let her know they’ve heard and bring Henry’s lesson to a stop. 

“We’d better not keep everyone in the dining hall waiting, guys,” David says good naturedly, hopping down from his seat on the fence, and beckoning them to follow with the assured grace of the ruler he is.

Bedivere and Henry bow to each other and sheath their blades. As they turn, however, Killian sees the invigorated glint of exertion and pride in Henry’s eyes. The lad’s brown gaze sweeps across and connects with Killian’s mischievously, grinning as if he knows what his mother’s True Love is thinking. Perhaps that bit of piracy his Emma possesses has been passed on to her son. Henry winks as if he has heard every word Killian thought, nods his head in the Captain’s direction, and dashes ahead of them up to the castle. 

As he follows, Killian cannot help feeling a bit of a spring in his own step. That glimmering look of triumph and just a bit of naughty fun on Henry’s face had been all Swan. The lad reminds him more of Emma with every passing day; the more he gets to know the young prince, the more it holds true. Emma’s boy is quite the plucky fighter, and that serves to give the pirate hope. Henry carries that spark of fire from his mother, and somewhere out there, Killian has to believe that his love is still fighting as well, still holding on until they can see her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***One last author’s note: I wasn’t sure which knight to have befriend Henry and continue his sword training, but when I started researching the different knights of Arthur’s circle, Bedivere stood out as a very interesting choice. Not only is he often written as the one who eventually threw Excalibur back into the lake as Arthur was taken to Avalon, but he was looked at as one of Arthur’s best fighters and most loyal followers. Though I didn’t know a lot about him, and we certainly don’t hear of him as much as ones like Lancelot, Percival, etc. He is also often described as being exceptionally tall, strong, handsome, and interestingly enough, one-handed – just like a certain dashing pirate we all know and love. I was hoping to work that into the story in some way but it just wouldn’t fit smoothly in the one shot I ended up with. As it turned out, we didn’t get to see Bedivere on the show, but that’s how he got the supporting role in this little piece!


	12. Only Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All I started with was the line “If I had something left of my mother’s…” for Killian, and somehow when I went to write something further with it, it became a whole rumination on 4x16 and Emma’s rift with her parents in the aftermath. However, Killian “I hope it’s my job to protect your heart” Jones managed to make it work, and I’m really kinda fond of how it all turned out.
> 
> I still don’t own them and sadly never will, but I’d still love to hear what you think!

He sighs, dipping his head to avoid her searching gaze, needing to steady himself and firm his resolve before Emma stares right into him in that particular way she has. There is no telling the good it does a reformed brigand like him to have the woman he loves turn to him when she is unsure, seek his advice when she needs answers, but – while he knows his opinion on the matter at hand – he wants to be sure his answer is best for her and not simply what he feels for himself, colored by over two centuries of pain and loss.

“Emma…love…” he looks up at her from under his lashes, chancing the tiniest of playful smiles and the debonair arch of a dark brow. “It would seem to me that you should treasure the item, keep it close to you, no matter the current discord between yourself and your parents. Clearly the piece means a great deal to the Lady Snow for her to have kept it all this time, hoping for a chance to pass it on to you…”

He trails off when Emma’s lovely, bright gaze clouds darkly and she shakes her head in frustration. Biting her lip, Emma is clearly battling within herself for a moment before she speaks harshly. Only an attentive ear like Killian’s would hear the ragged anguish and disillusioned uncertainty in her voice behind what masquerades as simple anger. “How can I? It feels like I’d be saying everything’s okay again…and it’s not! They lied to me, Killian, when I was so sure they never would. It feels like she only gave it to me to get back in my good graces. Some pretty keepsake doesn’t change the fact that they did something horrible and then covered it up so they could go on pretending they are these perfect heroes. They sentenced someone else to a horrible life of darkness with no way out, to be sure I would be good! I can’t just forget that!”

Her eyes practically burn him as she stares back, demanding honesty but also assurance and help. Reaching out a hand to cup her soft cheek, Killian cannot help marveling at the blazing warrior his Swan is. Regardless of her time and place in the modern world, wearing skintight jeans and a sheriff’s badge as they patrol the streets of Storybrooke in her yellow monstrosity, she is every bit the Savior Princess she was born to be, a shining hero he would truly follow to the end of the earth. No magic – either curse or charm or blessing – could make her into the woman he sees before him. Emma is good, and her heart is true, all on her own, despite any other machinations by well-meaning parents or sorcerers and apprentices, dragons or Fate itself. Emma would still be Emma – will always be Emma – just as she is, and he believes that with every fiber of his being. 

Looking back down to the delicate bracelet clutched in Emma’s fist, he sighs, realizing he must give her his full reasoning, give her all of it and admit his weakness, if he intends to help her see she does not want to face the same separation and loss he lives with every day. For a moment, his mind’s eye conjures unruly dark hair, black as a raven’s wing and much like his own, along with slate grey eyes crinkling in laughter, so reminiscent of the long-dead brother he adored that it makes his breath catch in his throat. There was once a lilting female voice singing sea shanties in place of lullabies on a barren, windswept coast, a woman who gave her best traits to two valorous sons and who loved them both with all her heart. Holding what he has of her tightly as his reason, Killian faces the golden beauty before him, more determined than ever to forge on, to ensure that Emma does not have to hold her loved ones only in memory.

Wetting his lips, Killian tries again, voice low and soothing. “No, it is too much to forget, but…I do believe you must forgive them, Lass.” His presses on before she can open her mouth to answer, needing to get the words out now that he has begun. “Aye, Darling, your parents made a costly mistake, but do you not think they have tortured themselves over it ever since? As long as they have been themselves again, they have lived with the guilt and hated the fact that you would think less of them, be disappointed in them, and angry with them. They must have so often feared what is happening right now…losing you once more.”

This time Emma doesn’t even move to interrupt him, simply gazes back into his eyes, blinking away tears and sniffling quietly.

Her pirate attempts to add a brief touch of levity to his words, but his chest tightens painfully at the memory of that year he spent without her, knowing that she didn’t even remember him, and his voice is choked when he adds, “It’s a devastating prospect, Emma…losing you.”

She shakes her head at him, the Lost Girl still inside her wanting to scoff in disbelief at his ardent words, but unable to doubt his sincerity.

“Come, Lass,” her pirate whispers, leaning over to brush just the faintest touch of his lips to her cheek. “She’s your mother. If I’m being completely honest, I do not wish to see you come to know as I do what it is to lose that bond. If I had even one thing left of my mother’s…”

Emma’s throat narrows sharply at the wash of raw emotion flashing through his depthless blue eyes. Killian has never spoken of his mother to her before, and she knows it must cost him to bring her up now, and therefore, just how much it matters to him that she understand. Her mother is still here, and no matter what her mother and father did in the past, it was done out of love for her, from a desire to protect her. She sighs, knowing it won’t be easy to overcome, and that she won’t be able to look at her parents quite the same way she did before. But will she give them up, bar them from her life in anger, when they’ve admitted their remorse and want so badly to make it right? That will hurt those she loves more – and punish herself as well.

Smiling sadly at the man beside her, she presses her hand against his chest, right over his heart, taking comfort in its steady beat under her palm. She hates that he knows the pain of being alone all too well, knows intimately the orphan mindset she may never quite shake. “You have do an eye for the real treasure, don’t you, Captain?” she whispers, leaning close enough to practically breathe her words over his lips.

“Pirate,” he reminds her, the storm in his eyes passing over as one of love for her takes its place.

Emma knows she needs to speak to Snow and Charming, start working through the past that has come between them, but for now she will take comfort in and listen to the needs of this man who has always made it his first concern to protect and mend her heart.


	13. Along with the Song in my Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Just a caution: I don’t do a whole lot of AUs – but this idea entered my brain, and I just needed to try it. Emma and Killian are in our everyday, non-magic, modern world as a waitress and cook at a diner. Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think if you wish, especially since I don’t write them in such different scenario very often.)

Murmured conversations, the clink of silverware against china, occasional bursts of raucous laughter and the sound of orders being called from the kitchen in back surround her as they always do on a busy Friday night. No one would confuse this dive with its worn pool table and outdated jukebox in the side room as a classy joint, but the food is good, the open mic brings in some honest undiscovered talent, and it keeps Emma Swan busy and making more than generous tips.

With the usual hum of sound around her and the smoky haze in the air, Emma does not clearly see who has taken the stage, guitar in hand, nor has she really had a chance to pause and listen to the song he is singing. This hopeful’s voice and its stark beauty don’t truly penetrate the background din until her break, when she sets her tray on the counter to flex her aching shoulders, arches her back and lets her eyes slide closed for just a moment. Then, the strum of a guitar and tuneful, lilting voice catch her attention. There is an inviting quality to the words; the singer’s timbre warm and deep and drawing Emma right under his spell.

Turning to peer across the bar toward the stage, she is startled to see the night shift cook at the mic, pouring his heart out, eyes closed and singing as though each word is the very air he needs to breathe. She has worked with the guy a few times, though they have never been properly introduced, and he has always been considerate and friendly enough, but more often than not, they pass each other at the time clock or at the door out to the back parking lot, as he is coming in for the late shift and she is leaving for the night.

Emma has a middle schooler at home needing his math assignments checked and to be kicked off his video games so he gets a good night’s sleep. If she had shivers dancing down her spine for hours the night their hands had brushed on the door frame and their eyes met and held – well, that was nobody’s business but her own…and nothing had come of it anyway, so what did it matter?

She had certainly not entertained the idea he could sing like that – and one of her old favorites too. Humming as her break ends and she returns to weaving in between the tables with trays of food, Emma tries to hold onto the pleasant surprise she feels, savoring the words she has always enjoyed in his deep, melodious tongue.

The guy draws in a wavering breath, making Emma and – she notices with a smirk – several other female patrons lean forward with interest, hanging on for his next word, anxious to hear as the space stretches. She looks up only to find him seemingly gazing right at her from his perch onstage. Their eyes catch and hold with the force of a head-on collision. She stumbles and nearly drops her entire tray of dirty dishes and leftovers on the nearest table.

She is the one drawing shaky breaths now, and yet she cannot look away. Those piercing blue eyes seem to capture her and burrow deep into her soul. She had never noticed in their fleeting interactions up until now how thick and dark his hair is; her fingers itch to run through its strands and his striking features stand out in even more arresting relief from the darkness. With the seductively gorgeous voice already calling out to her, she sees him briefly flick his tongue out to wet his lower lip and continue singing, and Emma feels all her normal distrust and caution melt and fall away. Her heart jolts erratically, and he flashes a quick, white smile at her as if he knows.

~~~~~~~00000000000~~~~~~~~~~0000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, as the last late patrons are leaving, Emma gathers her purse and jacket from her locker after wiping her last table and clocking out, when she hears that velvet voice again. Trying not to appear desperate, she turns to seek him out, not knowing what she intends to do, only that she is drawn to him and wants to see him again.

He’s across the room, saying goodbye to the manager and a few members of the house band. Though he is no longer singing, he is every bit as magnetic, and almost against her will, Emma finds her eyes noting the flex of muscle in his forearm as he shakes hands with one of them, the laugh lines that crinkle his eyes, and the natural grace with which he swings his guitar case up to hang over his shoulder.

Her joints ache, her hair is mussed and strands have long since escaped her ponytail, and she is ready to drag herself home, put her son to bed, and fall into her own to sleep for hours, but she still can’t help the thrill that runs through her when she reaches the exit and somehow he is there too, facing her. A giddy grin quirks her lips as Emma realizes he must have hurried to catch up with her, must have wanted to see her as well.

“Let me get the door for you, Lass,” he offers gallantly, the hint of an accent in his tone making it that much more enchanting.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, dipping her head gratefully and slipping out the door ahead of him.

They walk to the parking lot side by side in easy quiet for a few moments, until Emma bites her lip, then draws in a deep breath and takes the risk. “I really enjoyed your set tonight…” she trails off awkwardly, realizing she doesn’t even know his name.

“It’s Killian,” he supplies with a grin, holding out his hand to her. “Killian Jones, at your service, Love. And you are?”

“Emma,” she replies, reaching out to take his proffered hand, “Emma Swan.”

“Swan, is it?” he winks playfully, giving her fingers within his grip a gentle squeeze. “Pleasure to meet you.”

She manages a wobbly smile back, but it’s nothing compared to the tremors ricocheting around inside her. As soon as their fingers brush, crackling flickers of sensation begin running under her skin. Emma lifts her eyes back to his, and the spark within his gaze tells her that Killian Jones understands and feels it too. She holds on just a moment longer and somehow knows that this is only the beginning.


	14. Prestidigitorium!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the premiere episode (5x01), I remember being both excited and anxious for what was to come for Emma and those who love her most. I couldn’t help wanting to write a bit of sweet fluff for them, in the midst of all the angst that I’m now sure is on the way. I loved that little Emma in the flashback was seeing “The Sword in the Stone”, and the title of this is from that movie’s song Merlin sings while showing Wart how to pack magically.
> 
> Sometime in what I hope is the near future, after Emma has defeated the Darkness…

The little yellow cottage by the water seems lit from within on this chilly autumn evening as night begins to fall over Storybrooke, Maine. Though it hasn’t been home for long, Emma Swan’s first place of her own – that isn’t a tiny apartment in some huge, bustling city – is already exactly the cozy sanctuary she envisioned. It hasn’t been more than a couple of weeks since she moved her things in, settled into the space, and she is only now starting to feel that she really will be alright. She will be able to stay here in this little town, and she won’t have to fear hurting the ones she loves, because the darkness is finally, completely gone from inside her.

Most of that credit goes to her two True Loves seated right in front of her, part of the gathering in her little home tonight. Her sexy and sweetly devoted pirate, and her precious son who never stopped believing in her, are the ones who kept her fighting even when her battle against the Dark One curse began to feel hopeless – when she might have otherwise lay down in defeat and been subsumed by the horrific and overwhelming power that had coursed through her veins, aching to take her over.

Tonight is not about that though, even if she cannot help ruffling Henry’s hair with such an overflow of affection that it makes momentary tears well in her eyes as she pauses by the back of the sofa where he sits with little Roland Hood, waiting for everyone else to settle in with them to begin movie night. Killian is sitting quietly on Roland’s other side, clearly trying to appear extra calm and still, Emma can tell, because of the little boy in their care. Finally feeling like herself again, Emma had offered to babysit so Roland could join their little party and Regina and Robin could have a much-needed night alone to truly reconnect, talk, and heal. It made her feel even more accepted and restored to normal when Regina didn’t hesitate to accept her offer at all. Still, Roland hasn’t spent much time with any of them except Henry, and Emma finds it insanely adorable how hard her former pirate boyfriend is trying not to spook the child, to the point of keeping his hook shielded from view at his other side. As if sensing her thought, Killian tilts his head up against the back of the couch to look at her hovering over his shoulder.

“You’re thinking quite loudly, Swan,” he quips playfully, though she sees the unasked question in his eyes behind the jest. After all they have been through recently, he is especially attuned not to let her thoughts veer back toward guilt and fear over where she has been or what she has done, not if he can help it.

Emma bends down to kiss his forehead affectionately, happy to bestow any bit of encouragement or sweetness on him after the lengths he went to in order to bring her back and what he endured when she was not fully herself. She doesn’t want to dwell on those memories now, and so she keeps the kiss brief and innocent, standing again swiftly and shaking her head clear of the heavier thoughts. Tonight is meant to be happy – a celebration – and she intends to keep it so.

“How’s the popcorn coming in there?” she calls toward the kitchen where her dad is trying to work the microwave and prepare their snack, while keeping her little brother occupied as well. 

“Yes, Dave, need a hand?” Killian quips, the old joke of his only having one to spare familiar and accepted between them.

“Everyone just needs to hold their horses a minute!” David admonishes, no real scold in his eyes though as he strides into the room, one arm holding little Neal balanced on his hip, while carrying two huge bowls of mouth-wateringly scented buttered popcorn, one in each hand. “I’ve got it under control.”

Henry jumps up quickly to take one of the bowls from his grandpa and allow the man a free hand. David settles into the recliner with his young son, digging into the popcorn for his own handful and his eyes widening in pleased delight. “Wow! This is incredible!”

Henry laughs aloud, and Emma shoots her father a knowing look from around the people sitting between them. “See? Didn’t I tell you so?” She nods with playful gratification. “You can’t have a great movie night without buttered popcorn.”

“One point to the modern world,” David acknowledges with a conciliatory nod.

Killian reaches over to the bowl, putting his own handful of the hot, salty treat in his mouth. His eyes widen comically as well, and he nods vigorously in agreement. “Oh, aye, this is something the Enchanted Forest should truly be sorry they are lacking!”

Everybody crams into the cozy, but admittedly small, living room of Emma’s waterfront cottage as Henry pushes play on the DVD player and the movie begins. He’s been going through the Disney classics with little Roland, who is still wide-eyed and amazed by so much in the modern world, but clearly adores both the real world magic of animation and a catchy song as much as any other child. The selection for tonight is The Sword in the Stone, and though both Killian and her father had started to protest, afraid their recent adventures and trials – and how different Arthur, Merlin, and Camelot itself had proven to be from the legend they had known – might be upsetting or painful for Emma and all of them, Emma herself had urged them to let the boys pick. She could see the appeal in comparing the made-up story to a place they had just been able to experience for themselves. 

What she didn’t say aloud was that the real ache in her chest came not from remembering Arthur’s machinations and veiled treachery or the danger they had all faced, but from the memories of this movie being the first one she had ever seen in a theater, how she’d had to sit all alone with no one to buy her snacks, laugh along with her, or be sure she was enjoying herself. She remembered all too well having to walk past the popcorn in the theater lobby with no money of her own, and the way she had so easily filched a candy bar from that other theatergoer without thinking twice. Perhaps the Darkness had always been in there with her light, long before she could have possibly understood…

As the cartoon reached the spot where Wart wonders into Merlin’s cottage and the bearded old wizard is magically packing his entire home into a single bag with his “Higitus Figitus” song, Emma can’t help curling in a little closer to Killian from where she has already wedged herself onto the couch between him and the sofa’s arm, leaning her head sadly on his shoulder.

“Alright there, Lass?” he whispers, breath warm and soft on her forehead so as not to disturb their younger viewers.

“Fine,” she answers shortly, knowing she’ll tell him later about how that scene had only served to remind her of all the times she had been packed back up from a foster home and sent away again. For now she only wants to snuggle up to his warmth and be glad he is still here with her, despite what she had almost become.

However, when she gets up later to check on popcorn and drink refills, she simply has to bring the two boys candy bars when she returns, and somehow with their smiles and excited thanks, and the arm of her pirate wrapped around her once again, the void from so many years ago is finally filled.


	15. Dark Swan, Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a post-5x02 one shot. I loved that episode, and yet I keep thinking about poor Emma standing alone outside the diner, the Darkness keeping her away from all of those she loves and the home she worked so hard to accept. I imagined just a bit of a scenario to make that slightly less painful. Hope you enjoy! 

She stands alone outside the packed diner, huddled into the long, black duster she wears over her equally dark dress, trying futilely to ward off the chill autumn air. Unfortunately, the effort is wasted when it feels the cold is coming from within her as well, wrapping subtly around her heart. Cozy, bright lights and the hum of chatter from her gathered family, former friends and allies, emanate in a soft glow from the windows of the little inn and restaurant, piercing the night. 

The woman once known as Emma Swan, now the self-proclaimed Dark One, watches those she loves mingling, laughing, and embracing within impassively. If a person didn’t know the tiniest nuance of her face, she would look unaffected, waiting for the best time to make her next move. However, as her thin frame, buffeted by the wind at her back, leans forward slightly, a hint of the yearning within her peeps through the harsh, immovable veneer. The former lost girl who had almost – finally ¬– found her home nearly shows through the frosted, severe hair and barely glimmering pale skin for a moment, aching desperately to take a step closer, to be back inside, within the warmth of love and light, once more a part of something.

The Darkness slides back in smoothly, quickly, before Emma’s human longing can fully take hold, purring with the thrilling tingle of so much magic at her fingertips, whispering that she does not need any of them. ‘Look at them, going right on without you…’ the insidious voice in her head reminds, until Emma finally recedes once more and it is the icy, impervious new magical villain who turns and begins to walk away – a solitary black shape against the backdrop of the dark, deserted street.

Suddenly, she stiffens at the sound of the bell above Granny’s door jangling, a slam as it hits the frame again, and footsteps pounding down the stairs, onto the pavement, seemingly running after her. She pauses, body taut and vibrating with barely contained power, fingers clenched in tightly until her nails dig into her palms, forcing herself not to spin and immediately blast the newcomer off his or her feet.

Waiting, she is still and unchanging as stone until a small, light hands falls gently on her arm, and Henry speaks in the voice that pierced her impenetrable heart four years ago when he showed up at her door in Boston and refuses to leave her, even now. “Mom!” Henry pleads, voice roughly cracking with emotion as he clutches her elbow. “Wait, please…”

No matter how the beast within roars and tries to surge up in retaliation at her hesitating, Emma fights through it enough to turn and look on her son, a young man now but still beseeching her to listen and believe in him. Henry’s mop of brown hair ruffles in the breeze as his eyes search her face, hope somehow still directed at her, his faith causing a lump to rise in the back of her throat where nothing else has penetrated.

“Here,” Henry offers, holding up a to-go cup from Granny’s that she hadn’t noticed until then. “I know you like it with cinnamon…like I do. You must miss the hot chocolate.” He tries a mischievous, knowing little smile, and Emma somehow feels a tiny echo of her own inching her own lips up at the corners.

Giving the barest of nods, Emma extends her hand to take his offering, careful not to let her fingers brush his – not wanting the chill that has taken her over to infect his warm heart and generous spirit. “Thanks, Kid,” she rasps, struggling to force the words past a tightened throat and make them heard.

He shrugs, “No problem” his easy reply. They share a moment that is nearly casual, coming close to the easy camaraderie they have always had. But his earnest face sobers quickly as he catches her wrist before she can distance herself again and stares into her eyes unflinchingly. “I – I know you’re angry…at Gramps and Grandma, my other mom…everyone. And you’re hurt. You feel like it’s too late…this is who you are now, and that they should have to pay. It isn’t true though! I’m not giving up on you – and I’m not the only one, either.”

She shakes her head, starting to protest, but Henry interrupts, not letting her deny his hope and his love…his Charming optimism. “I miss you, Mom,” he adds wistfully, then plows on, “but I know you’ll be back. Until then, enjoy the hot chocolate.” With that, he gives her one last quick smile and dashes back the way he came, back into the warmth and light of the gathered citizens of Storybrooke.

Emma turns and continues the walk to her house alone. Raising the cup to her lips though, she finds one tiny tendril of warmth and comfort at first sip; the chocolate, milk, and spice of the cinnamon greet her tongue with happy nostalgia and sweetness. It solves nothing – and yet, for the briefest of moments, it thaws a bit of the ice that has encased her from the inside out. Maybe the real Emma is still in there somewhere, anxious to savor something as simple as a favorite drink and maybe – just maybe – find her way back out.


	16. Operation Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (5x08 really gutted me for a bit, and now I have to write some fluff in order to recover and survive the wait for 5x10. Luckily, once I calmed down a little, I saw that there were some lovely sweet moments in the episode too, and I thought I might explore them further. This one is courtesy of Killian and Henry and their very own secret code name operation. Hope you enjoy! Obviously, I still don’t own them – if I did, I would play with them much more nicely! ;)

When Emma’s lad had first come to him whilst they idled in Camelot wondering what to do and how to proceed, Killian had arched an eloquently skeptical brow – not sure why Henry would possibly want his opinion, want to include him in this way, and imagining Emma’s indignation at their plotting a major life decision for her in such a manner. However, the genuine hope in the young man’s eyes, the tone of voice that tried so hard to sound firm and sure while under the surface beseeching the pirate for help and support in continuing to believe, and the enthusiasm when Killian listened and showed interest, quickly led the pirate to acquiesce and become Henry’s partner in his newest secret operation.

And what a worthy mission it was. Though the Captain had known this about the boy already, the joyously enacted scheme drove the fact home to him even more forcefully. His love was not the only one stubbornly invested in the happy endings of everyone she cared for – her son was exactly the same. Heroism ran in Henry’s blood as surely as the sea flowed through Killian’s own veins, and the boy was pure love for all whom he cared about, without the extra protective shell of cultivated cynicism and walls Emma had been forced to develop so early in life. Henry had always had a home, been loved (even if Her Majesty Regina had not always expressed that love well) and known that he was wanted. The boy’s belief in Right and Good was a powerful thing, not allowing him to give up nor admit defeat when others might.

Thrusting the newspaper from Storybrooke into Killian’s line of sight, Henry had plowed forward with his explanation, growing more and more enthused as he could see the man warming to his vision. “Okay, so these three are the ones I like best, but give them all a look and see what you think…” he offered as he pointed to the classified section where several homes on the market were displayed. Even as his excitement had him near to bursting and he bounced on his toes slightly while Killian took the paper and began to peruse the choices with genuine interest, Henry still spoke quietly and kept a furtive eye on the others in Granny’s to ensure that their plans were not overheard.

Somehow, it wasn’t until he really studied the homes Henry had indicated that Killian felt this gesture’s importance hit him right in the chest. Tears he refused to let fall stung mightily in the corners of his eyes as the Captain realized quickly that all of the lad’s choices were near the docks and the Jolly, along with boasting lovely views of the water. True, Henry was looking for something good his mother could hang onto, something lovely – a hard-earned reward – to anticipate as she fought for her very soul, but he was also telling Killian that he wanted his mother’s boyfriend to be right with them, that he was a part of their little family now, and that Killian had his acceptance and love; it was abundantly clear in the way the lad had chosen only homes that a sailor couldn’t help but love.

Glancing back up and holding earnest, eager brown eyes with his intense blue gaze, Killian hoped desperately that he could express just how much this gift meant to him. The emotion swelled, tightening in his chest, and where words usually flowed from him eloquently, all he seemed able to rasp out in that moment was, “These are all fine abodes, m’boy. Right worthy choices, to be sure.” He licked his lips, striving to continue, to say thank you, to let Emma’s lad know how much he truly cares for him in his own right as well as for Emma’s sake, but all he could do was nod meaningfully to this extraordinary and astute young man, hoping it would convey his agreement, approval, and a growing sense of paternal love – all the things he was unable to force from his throat aloud just yet.

He could see though, as enthusiasm lit Henry’s gaze and the Young Author gave him a determined nod in return – as if setting their course – that he should never have doubted the Truest Believer. Whether he had been able to voice all he felt or not, it would appear that he and Emma’s son also understood each other.

“Well now, Master Mills,” he gave Henry a playful, secretive smile, keeping his voice soft but allowing a degree of joviality as well, “if we are in accord, perhaps we should shake on it and seal the deal? A gentlemen’s agreement of sorts?”

Henry literally beamed back at him, extending a hand to take Killian’s inconspicuously proffered right and finalizing their arrangement – their gift for the mother and savior they both love. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he said with equal good humor.

Killian circled the house he liked best, jotting down a tentative note of “This one?” beside it, then handed the classifieds back to Henry, who tucked the paper into his tunic for safekeeping. The lad had begun to back away, looking the tiniest bit awkward and unsure for the first time, when Killian couldn’t resist speaking once more to offer his appreciation and approval, even if it was not truly his place. “This is a stellar notion, Lad,” he murmured, hoping to show his fervent sincerity in even a quiet tone. “I do believe your mum will be quite happy with it.”

Henry’s head dipped for a moment, bashful, and then, in a quick shuffle, so brief Killian almost had almost thought he was imagining it even as it happened, the teen jerked forward, hugged him tightly, and then fell back and moved away before the man could even respond. Watching Henry’s retreat as he neared his grandpa, and Charming turned to clap him on the shoulder in greeting and welcome him into the little circle he had formed with his wife and Henry’s infant uncle to enjoy the repast Granny had made, Killian had felt warmed from the inside and a smile lingered on his face. He felt more strengthened for the struggle than ever. He was not alone in battling for Emma’s happiness, and as her two greatest loves united, they could not fail.

~~~00~~~00~~~00~~~

Four weeks later…

Henry stands on the front walk, looking up at the façade of the two story house he and Killian had picked as their favorite back in Camelot. Dew still glitters on the grass in the yard, and he huddles into the heavy wool of his coat against the chill of the cold, grey, early morning. The house is every bit as perfect as it had looked in that newspaper ad, and his mom does live here, but somehow things are still all wrong, and nothing has turned out the way he had wanted.

Not only is Emma still the Dark One, but something is wrong with Killian too. At first, Henry had attributed it to the fact that they were back home with no memories of their time in the other realm, and the frustration he knew the Captain must have felt at thinking he had failed his love and seeing her so cold and distant, fully embracing the entity he had fought to destroy for hundreds of years. Henry had felt pretty guilty himself, though Emma had assured him that he was not one of those who had failed her, and he knew that his partner in crime, the man he thought of as a stepdad, must be hurting even more.

The young man has tried to seek the Captain out, to listen, or to ask for sailing lessons as a distraction – even to enlist the man in a new mission to help his mom together. However, it seems that lately Killian is avoiding his company, keeping his distance for no reason that makes any sense to Henry. When they are in close proximity, as when they had used the Crimson Crown to summon Merlin, Killian is as encouraging and loyal as ever, assuring Henry he has faith in him, but otherwise there is a distance that Henry doesn’t like. One that had not been there before. Even without out all his memories, the boy is nearly certain of it.

Clutching the old ad in his hands, Henry looks down at the picture of the house now standing before him, and Killian’s flowing script indicating it as their choice. Henry doesn’t really understand what has happened. He doesn’t know what he needs to do – yet. But he will not be deterred. His mom deserves her Happy Ending. Just as she had been so determined to provide for everyone else, Henry is going to see that she receives no less. He knows Killian needs to be here in this house with them. He needs these two people – his parents, he hopes, if they can have two seconds of peace all together to enjoy it – to be back to themselves and in his life once more. 

Sighing, he admits to himself that hope seems lost right now, but he won’t give up on Operation Light Swan, the joyous reunion he and Killian had planned, nor on Killian and Emma themselves. He loves them. They’re family. And in his circle at least, family always finds each other. This house is meant to be the happy home of their dreams, not a cold, lonely mausoleum where Emma can hide with her darkness and heartbreak. He’s the Author and the Truest Believer, and even if it is his mission alone now, he will find a way.


	17. And All the Trimmings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Thanksgiving fluff written during 5B as I anxiously hoped for them to return from the Underworld with their hero party still intact and a pirate in tow. Nods to CS, Snowing, and OQ in here (I even intended on trying to work in Rumbelle, but it didn’t happen) Anyway, think that’s it. Enjoy – and please let me know what you think if you’re so inclined!

“And All the Trimmings”

“Charming?” his lovely wife’s voice rings brightly from the loft’s small kitchen right into the erstwhile Prince of the Enchanted Forest’s ears as he bustles through the door of their apartment, arms full of groceries and cheeks red from the first deep chill and frost of the year. “Is that you?”  
“Yes, Snow, I’m back!” he calls, bemused smile quirking up one side of his mouth. A chuckle escapes David Nolan’s throat at how happy and excited his Princess sounds. Setting his purchases on the table until he can hang his coat back on its peg, he shakes his head with affectionate good humor and goes to meet her in the kitchen.  
If he’s honest with himself, David is nearly as anxious and thrilled as Snow. After all, their entire family, with all its odd, extended members, will soon be gathered here with them for the first Thanksgiving holiday they have celebrated together. His heart swells at the very idea – even if at the same time he has to simply hope the whole thing will really manage to go off without a hitch…or any bloodshed.  
“Looking for these?” he asks with happy teasing in his voice as he enters the kitchen, sets the several plastic bags from the market on the counter, and leans over the center island to plant a kiss on Snow’s upturned lips.  
“Yep,” she chirps, beaming at him as they part and reaching in to begin unpacking, “I was.”  
Charming moves back into the front dining area, preparing the table and making sure they have enough chairs, that the candles and centerpieces Snows wants are out, and letting her get back to her cooking in the meantime. Between the homemade noodles, green beans, and the mashed potatoes and gravy his wife has simmering all at once, Charming is impressed she can keep everything going without setting anything on fire, much less having the whole apartment smelling good enough to make him drool, and he certainly doesn’t want to distract her from it. No matter how long they have been married, or what realm they find themselves in, it doesn’t take long for Snow to prove that she will never cease to surprise and amaze him.  
He has just stepped back to survey his handiwork proudly when the doorbell rings. Swiftly moving forward to answer it before Snow comes running, Charming’s smile grows even wider as Henry bursts into the room, greeting him enthusiastically and launching right into a story of their hectic morning. He is followed by Roland, who is practically bouncing up and down in place and vibrating with rambunctious energy, his deep dimples cracking wide across his face. After their two boys come Robin and Regina, each laden with items that Charming attempts to help take off their hands.  
Robin hands over the delectably scented and delicious-looking turkey, beaming proudly as he gives a nod toward the perfectly crisped and golden brown bird on the platter, which has clearly been charmed in some way by Regina to stay warm and ready to place on the table. “Caught it myself, Mate,” Robin says. “Should be a good one.”  
Charming sets the turkey on the long dining table he has just finished with, then claps his friend on the shoulder and ushers him in. “I’m sure it will be. Thanks,” he answers.  
Robin slings an insulated bag off his should now and holds it forward as well. “Regina’s apple tarts,” he explains with both a mischievous smile and a shrug of feigned innocence. The former thief knows the rest of the family’s understandable aversion to the fruit, but he also somewhat adores his beloved’s rather twisted sense of humor and refusal to shy away from her past by making a dish that highlights the difference in her now and just how far she has come. With a wink, he tacks on, “Taste tested them myself, and they’re irresistible.”  
The archer moves past, on into the loft to greet Snow and to catch and corral his young son. Regina raises a sculpted brow at David as she enters after Robin, their new little girl sleeping cradled in her arms and a diaper bag slung over her shoulder. Though David knows all too well that having a newborn in the home can be harrying, the formerly evil Queen looks as completely polished and put together as always – not a hair out of place. “Charming,” she greets with a wry nod, somehow managing to inject even the simplest hello with her trademark dry sarcasm. They may be on the same side now, fumbling towards being a truly non-dysfunctional family, but he somehow feels that her half-mocking way of using the name Snow gave him will never change, and perhaps – in Regina’s own way – it’s a form of affection.  
Peeking into the layers of lavender blanket bundled around Robin and Regina’s little daughter to shield her from the biting wind outside, Charming can’t help a soft grin at the sweet, perfect little infant sleeping peacefully, the softest wisps of russet curls on her little head and her soft, pale pink skin. “She’s lovely, Regina,” he murmurs in quiet awe, not wanting the rouse little Mariana, and feeling a flood of affection for this woman who once hunted he and Snow, wanting both of their heads, but who also saved Snow’s life as a child, and has clawed her way back from the bottom to right her wrongs.  
Before he can close the door behind her, Emma and Killian come tramping up the hall stairs, cheeks flushed and both laughing at some unknown joke between them, but greeting him heartily as they see he is standing there watching. Emma reaches David first, falling into her dad’s arms and returning his hug exuberantly before reaching back to pull Killian in as well when he hesitates, effectively sandwiching herself between the two of them in a three-way hug. The laugh that rings from his daughter’s throat, light and open and at last free of the guilt and pain she had been saddled with for too long, is all David needs to be as grateful this Thanksgiving as at any he can remember.  
“Thanks Dad,” Emma mumbles almost bashfully when she does ease back and both she and her pirate boyfriend pull away. They follow him into the house, their food contributions in hand.  
“Aye, thank you for having us, Mate,” Killian adds with a dip of his chin as they all step through the door and he shuts it behind himself. He offers his love’s father a genuine smile when their gazes meet, Emma having busied herself with hanging up their jackets and removing her boots. For a moment, David is frozen in place, forcibly reminded of how Killian had looked just a few weeks before, when they had found him in the black depths of the Underworld. As long as any of them live, David fears the sight of Killian Jones which had greeted them beyond the Veil would be hauntingly branded on their souls. Chained to a dank stone wall in the furthest recesses of Hades’ domain, the shade of a pirate that they’d found was not the dashing rapscallion they knew. Though bearing his torment in stoic silent, he had been emaciated and shivering, the dark rings under his eyes clearly showing that Killian had known no sleep or peace since he left their world. The rest of the rescue party had stood horrified as Emma fell to her knees before him, tears pouring down her face while she reached out to cup his bearded cheeks in her hands. Worse than all that though had been the blank, almost unseeing despair in blue eyes that had always been so full of life; the vacancy in their depths no longer seemed like Killian at all and had truly made their blood run cold.  
To see that spark back in Jones’ smiling gaze, and the dark bruises beneath his eyes fading, reminds David forcibly just how much they do have to celebrate before he clears his throat to respond with hoarse emotion. “Of course. We’re glad to have everyone. Snow’s really trying outdo herself.”  
Without further ado, David soon finds his family gathered around the table, talking, laughing and reveling in the warmth and happiness of the occasion. There is good natured ribbing at Emma’s continued inability to cook and a playful debate over whether or not the bottoms of several of the butter horn rolls she had made were more burnt than a nice golden brown. Mariana wakes from her nap and begins to gurgle and coo at everyone she can see gathered around her. Snow gushes over the pecan pie that Emma grudgingly admits Killian had made, complete with perfectly crimped edges of crust and an ornate little ‘KJ’ carved into the crunchy sugared top. ‘Figures,” Charming hears his daughter grumble with teasing chagrin, “He can cook circles around me with only one hand.”  
Snow is quick to assure her daughter that she will get better with practice, but Killian only smirks at Emma, looking entirely as though he wants her to either smack or kiss the grin off his face. “Well, I had to sign such artwork, Swan,” he counters playfully. “You might have tried to take credit for it otherwise.”  
The whole table laughs and carries on, but is quickly more absorbed in eating than talking, just comfortable in each other’s presence and enjoying a quiet moment. David looks to the other end of the long table and catches Snow’s eye, perfectly understanding the misty look he finds there. This was all either of them hand ever wanted: a family, all together, happy and safe. It is what they had sacrificed so much for their best chance at preserving. He smiles at his True Love, marveling that two other pairs of true loves sit in this very room with them, and tucks into his own meal at last. Now that they have all found each other, this family has every blessing it could possibly need.


	18. Amazing Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When this idea popped into my head, I had to give it a try. It was originally posted before the show came back for Season 6, as it takes the time to detail a little Henry/Hook character moment I would like to have seen. My heart definitely wants all the Captain Cobra it can get, so I created some… Hope you enjoy!!

Henry Mills is initially so thrilled by their victory and safe return to Storybrooke, by the fact that all the varied members of his large extended family – excluding his grandpa Gold, who had chosen his own wrong path one last time too many – were together again, and by the amazing and adventurous new story he has to record, that he doesn’t immediately notice how differently Killian acts around him. Granted, the pirate captain is still weak, somewhat guarded and quiet as he recovers slowly from the torture he suffered at Hades’ and his minions’ hands, but Henry begins to see, as the days inch forward and become one week, then two, that there is more to it that just recuperating. His mom’s boyfriend, whom he has gladly begun to see as a confidante and even a future stepdad, is changed around him in particular; Killian is holding back, avoiding his eyes, apologizing for even the tiniest imagined slights, and Henry can’t understand why.

Puzzled, and more than a bit hurt by this distance from a man who has shown nothing but care and affection for him, Henry briefly considers going to his mom or his grandpa David for advice, or to see if they know what is going on, but he decides against it; Emma has enough worrying her with her own guilt for what Killian suffered and concern for his healing, and he doesn’t want his grandpa to be upset with the other man. He also doesn’t want either of them to question or pester Killian about it, or make the man force jovial friendliness he no longer seems to feel. He is 14 now – smart and observant – and he likes to think he understands the people he cares about most. Surely he can figure this out on his own…and just maybe find a way to fix it.

In fact, once Henry decides something is indeed wrong with Killian and bends his concentration to figuring it out, it doesn’t take him long to pinpoint exactly what must be troubling the captain. Henry wants to smack his own forehead at taking as long as he did once realization strikes with obvious clarity. “Of course!” he blurts, sitting up straight from his desk, loose leaf paper scattering all over the surface and onto the floor of his new room in the house he and Killian had picked out for his mom all those months ago, where he has been trying to put together a draft of the story they’ve all just lived through in Camelot and in defeating the Darkness. “How did I miss that?!”

The former pirate, this man who convinced his mom to stay in Storybrooke with her family and make it her own, the one who comforted him and told him stories that let him get to know his dad better after Neal’s death, the one man who had ever managed to take on and then willingly give up the Darkness as no other bearer had, in order to save them all, was still frighteningly quick to undervalue himself and what he meant to the rest of them. Henry hasn’t glimpsed it often; Killian puts up a good front of overconfidence and bravado normally, and Henry is still getting to know him, but he sees that the former pirate judges himself too harshly, berates himself for any mistakes or stumbles, and holds himself to a harsh code of honor and heroics that no one could live up to all the time. And now that he is so weary and beaten, Henry can glimpse that veil falling more than he has in the past. Interestingly enough, he often sees the same thing in his mom, in Emma. That may be part of why they are so good for each other; they buoy up and support each other, one believing in and comforting the other when he or she falls short and the vicious self-loathing kicks in.

Exhaling a quick breath and squaring his shoulders, Henry stands to head downstairs and talk to Killian while it’s just the two of them, before his mom gets home from the station. He should have known it sooner, but now that he does, Henry wants to help. He just wants his friend and (he’s sure) soon-to-be-stepdad back. He knows it wasn’t really Killian Jones who had allowed him to be marked and callously almost let the Dark Ones cart him and the rest of his family to the Underworld. The real Killian Jones sacrificed himself to make that wrong right and take that fate from them.

As he reaches the bottom of the stairs, Henry glances around and finds Killian in the comfy living room armchair he seems to favor since their return, the one which looks out the large windows over the backyard and all the way to the water. The former pirate appears to be reading a book idly; however, he seems much too distracted by his thoughts and continually looking up and around, to be enjoying the written word. Clearing his throat, Henry enters the room cautiously, having learned just after their return from the Underworld and the combined return to life without the powers of Dark Magic, that startling either his mom or Killian brings a stark, pained sort of fright and then guilty silence upon them. He definitely doesn’t want that now; if he is right in his guess, his friend is already heaping enough guilt and shame on himself. “Hey Killian,” he greets hopefully, making sure his presence is known before coming too close. “Can we talk for a minute?”

The pale, drawn version of the dashing captain he’s grown so used to looks up at him hesitantly, his blue eyes guarded instead of shining with the open eagerness he has always shown when speaking with Henry, whether teasing him about a crush, teaching him to play with loaded dice, or taking him out sailing on the Jolly. Yet, despite obvious misgiving and unease, he nods tightly, clearly not willing to offend this lad he loves like his own, and murmurs a soft, “Aye…if you wish.”

Henry moves carefully to sit on the couch facing Killian, their knees almost touching, eying the pirate as if he is an animal who might spook at too quick a movement, until he can really study Killian face to face. His whole aspect appears dull now, compared to the mischief and humor he has always twinkled with, and Henry hates the pain this good man has been through, and the fact that he won’t let himself out of his suffering, even now. ‘Fine then,’ he thinks with petulant and determined frustration, ‘if that’s the way it’s gonna be, I won’t beat around the bush.’ “Look,” he states abruptly, “I know what you’re doing, Killian.”

That makes the pirate’s head shoot up, panicked eyes searching Henry’s face with raw concern. “You’re being too hard on yourself…and you need to stop,” he adds with force. 

Killian shakes his head slightly before bowing it to study the way the fingers of his good hand clench and unclench on his knee. His voice is low and rough with emotion when he speaks reluctantly. “No, I fear I have not nearly atoned for what I’ve done,” he murmurs. “I venture to guess I never will.”

Henry leans closer, can’t help it in his intense desire to make Killian see how much he still cares, to mend this unnecessary rift and ease some of the hurt. “Really?! You don’t think giving your life up for the rest of us rights your mistake? You don’t think suffering through torture by the Devil himself isn’t more punishment than you deserve?!?” He stops to draw a breath, getting a little overwhelmed and emotional himself. He sees Killian draw a shuddering breath too. “Killian,” he tries again, wetting his lips and continuing haltingly. “You- you know I don’t blame you…don’t you?”

Heaving a long sigh, Henry can see the effort Killian puts into looking back up and holding his gaze, “I could not fault you if you did, Lad. What I did put you in danger. Your mother trusted me to be around you, all of you trusted me, and I betrayed that good will viciously. …To think, that I had begun to feel we were…” The pirate breaks off here, eyes clenching shut before he turns his head away and jerks his hand through his disheveled hair in agitated dejection.

“…Family?” Henry asks, picking up Killian’s train of thought hopefully, unwilling to let the unspoken thought go. He feels the same, and he isn’t ready to let that dream die. “Me too, Killian. We still are.”

Clear blue eyes with a film of unshed tears – clearer than they have been in all the time since Killian’s return – rise to search Henry’s in disbelief. “Do you truly mean that?” he asks, stunned to a bare whisper.

Henry grins, just a touch cocky and playful, raising one eyebrow in a look he has picked up from the man before him. “Aye,” he mimics Killian’s accented tone, “I do.” Then his young face grows serious, needing Killian to accept his offering. “More than anything,” he vows.

Killian merely nods, the tiniest of smiles quirking one side of his mouth upward. Neither of them say anything else for a long time, but the silence between them is more comfortable than it has been, and Henry inches his fingers forward until he is clutching Killian’s hand, wanting to hug the pirate, but not willing to overwhelm him. Killian opens it to grasp Henry’s fingers more tightly in response, his grip holding on as he would to a lifeline. “Then I shall endeavor to forgive myself,” he says at last in a gravelly voice, “and to be deserving of such loyalty and grace from here onward.”

No longer able to hold back, Henry leans forward into Killian’s chest and the man gladly opens his arms to wrap Henry up. Despite the pressure it puts on his injuries, it feels incredibly healing to them both. “You already are,” Henry murmurs fervently into Killian’s side, and if he feels the moisture of a few warm, silent tears in his hair soon after, he never tells.

When his mom comes home half an hour later, they are no longer clinging to each other in a desperate hug, nor seemingly emotional at all, but they are sitting together happily. Their calm enjoyment of each other’s company is something Emma’s heart has been aching for since their return.

“Have a good day, guys?” she asks brightly, searching both beloved faces with joy in her eyes, despite not knowing what has happened to made things right. 

Henry feels more relief than he can express at being able to grin back and nod in the affirmative. She goes to call out for pizza, the teen moves to get cups, plates, and drinks, then looks over his shoulder to eagerly agree when Killian suggests they watch that “bloody epic” movie with the “elf who can outshoot Snow White and Robin Hood both”. Emma rolls her eyes, not fully understanding their enthusiasm for the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but willing to do anything to keep those genuine grins on both of her boys’ faces.

“You’d better not let my mom hear you say that,” she warns in teasing response.

Henry snorts at the picture of his bandit-princess grandma taking offense at their finding Legolas a better archer than her, and only smiles wider. His family is going to be alright.


	19. Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I don’t have much to say to introduce this one, other than that, after that first little glimpse of Killian we saw in the 5b premiere, I wrote this to focus myself on when they would get him back, the payoff, and the two of them healing together. In that spirit, enjoy this little post-UW one shot. It was spec then, but now it's divergent…)

“Yours”

Standing in the master bath off the bedroom in their house with the view of the sea, Emma Swan studied her reflection in the mirror over the sink with a frown. Objectively, she knew she looked better than she had; the gaunt desperation had begun to fade from her face, and some of the pink had returned to her complexion where it had gone pale with grief, but the dark circles still ringed her haunted eyes, and she feared that wouldn’t change any time soon.

Three days. It had been three days and three nights since they’d made their way back from Hades’ cursed domain, Killian in tow and alive once more, but in that time, it didn’t seem that an hour of those nights had gone by in which either she or Kilian had not jerked awake screaming or gasping for breath with tears in their eyes from a nightmare. They were curled around each other in the same bed, holding on tight enough to bruise, and though nothing had happened beyond sleeping – the exhaustion and sheer relief overwhelming anything else – neither one could rest at all if the other was not within reach, if one of them couldn’t put a hand on the other’s chest and feel their halved heartbeat. She was genuinely glad that after the first night Henry had agreed to stay at Regina’s for a bit. The poor kid had been like a shadow in Killian’s wake until they had gone to bed that first evening, and had sat solemnly beside the former pirate as they had breakfast the next morning – Killian’s first back in the land of the living – and then trailed him into the living room, where the two of them had sat silently on the couch, staring at, but not really watching, some kitchen gadget infomercial. 

Emma knew her son had to have been awakened by Killian’s bloodcurdling howls of fear and pain in the wee hours that morning, but – to her loyal, beautiful boy’s credit – that only seemed to make him more determined to stay right at her love’s side. In the midst of all the pain they had been through – that they were still going through – it sent one sharp, brilliant pang of joy to her heart seeing that their son, her first True Love, clearly adored the man who was her other half, even more than she had already known. Still, she figured allowing a fourteen-year-old to accompany them on a rescue mission to hell in the first place had to have been trauma enough; she wanted to avoid scarring Henry any further.

Beyond that, she and Killian simply needed some time. A little precious time for the two of them – alone – to heal and to find one another again. 

A watery smile stole across her reflection’s face in the mirror, tremulous but present. ‘He’s still here, still with me,’ Emma told herself once again, as if repeating the comforting mantra enough would make her worst fears go away. At least she could sleep now; she had done nothing but lie awake in her clothes on the couch, staring at the ceiling with sightless eyes and worrying his ring between her fingers until she had realized there was the possibility to go after Killian and bring him back.

Trying desperately not to remember her own nightmares – where she woke cold and alone, with not just Killian, but everyone she loved, gone, or the one where Killian was there with her, but as she reached out for him, he crumbled into ash and blew away, vanishing on a hot, desolate wind. Grasping almost blindly as tears blurred her vision once more, Emma fumbled until she could clutch the ring hanging from its chain around her neck, Killian’s gift to her that had once belonged to his beloved older brother. Her fingers brushed against the open collar of one of Killian’s old pirate shirts as it opened along her collarbone, soft and light as silk against her skin and black as night in contrast to the pale color to which her skin had returned in her distress. The feel of the cool, solid, metal circle pressing against her palm grounded and steadied her, as it had since Killian put it in her care.

Just as her breath began to even out slightly, a hand stole around her waist, tightening gently, snugly across her middle and pulling her closer into the solid form which had come to stand behind her. 

Emma’s eyes rose from Killian’s warm, bare arm wrapped around her to see his chin resting on her shoulder, unshaven cheek roughly comforting against hers. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and she sensed he was trying to breathe her in, to ground himself in the same way she had just been doing. When those heart-stopping blue eyes blinked open, Killian stared nearly into her soul, concern for her writ large in his gaze. Pressing a tender kiss to her temple, his voice rumbled low and rasping when he murmured against her skin, “It’s early yet, Love. Are you alright?”

For a moment, she thought about brushing her fears aside and saying that she was fine. Truth be told, she still felt a bit as if she deserved her hurt after all the suffering she had caused him and how much worse his pain had been. She stopped herself though. They would never be healed and happy together if they didn’t trust each other with their scars – and the truth. Besides, Killian read her too well for Emma to think saying she was fine when she wasn’t would work with him. Shaking her head gently and blinking rapidly to hold back more tears, she huffed out a breath and managed to say, “Not really…but keep holding me like that and maybe I’ll get there.”

Despite the battered look of newer cuts on his cheek and jaw and the gone-yellow bruising on his face, Killian grinned wider and the effect was almost pleasantly comic for a moment as the smile transformed his expression. He carefully brushed an escaped tear from her cheek with his finger and caught her eye in the mirror. “I shall be more than happy to fulfill that request, Lass.”

Twining their fingers together and pressing their joined hands to her chest, Emma hesitantly moved to pull the ring on its chain over her head with her other hand. She realized suddenly that it was well past time she returned it to him – now that she had actually met Liam, she knew how much it must have cost Killian to be parted from it, even for her. And she had Killian himself to hold onto again, instead of a keepsake, however precious.

As though he sensed what she intended to do, Killian stopped the motion, encircling her wrist with his hook. He shook his head gently, pressing her hand back down.

“But Killian…” Emma floundered, biting her lip and trying to put her words together calmly, “this was Liam’s. I understand now what it must mean to you. You’re here with me again, so – as grateful as I was to have it when you weren’t…” she had to pause for a shaky breath at the memory, but carried on, “I thought you would want it back…”

Instead, Killian lifted her free hand with his hooked one, bringing it to his mouth to kiss the pad of each finger tenderly, reverently, then he disentangled the fingers of his good hand from hers in order to take the ring for a moment and hold it up as he spoke. “On the contrary, Emma lass, I wish for it to be yours, always.” His eyes twinkled merrily for just a moment, the way they had done so often when he teased or challenged her what seemed ages ago now, before his stint in the Underworld and her time as the Dark One. 

Then, his gaze went intense and earnest once more. He eased himself gently, still wincing as his knees made contact with the tile floor and an elbow drew in against obviously tender ribs, but Killian knelt in front of Emma before she could come up with a coherent response to his words. A gasp of surprise and shocked awe escaped her lips, as she stared at him in wide-eyed wonder. 

Her pirate hero gazed up at her with love in his eyes, love like she had never known before he sauntered into her life. He licked his lips and only added simply, “Emma Swan, you must know that I have been yours since the moment your face burst across my darkened vision like a ray of light. You put that knife to my throat in the Enchanted Forest and threatened to leave me for the ogres, but in reality you cut away the shadows I had shrouded myself in for far too long. On this road we have traveled together…” his voice faltered with emotion for only a moment before he collected himself once more, while Emma gave up and let the tears fall when she realized they were flowing unchecked from her eyes already, “somehow I…I found the man of honor I always wished to be. My love, my heart, you have done more for me than I can rightly say, but I can ensure that you never doubt I am yours for the rest of our lives, and I will spend mine endeavoring to repay you and see that you are never left alone again. Allow this unworthy pirate his most precious treasure and tell me you will be my wife.”

After Killian’s beautiful, heartfelt words, Emma was completely incapable of speaking at all. Not wanting him to wonder or fear her acceptance for a moment, she nodded vigorously, hoping the happiness shone on her face as she felt it spreading from within, her cheeks actually ached from the strain of smiling so widely. Sinking to her knees before him, Emma slipped her arms around him, breathlessly excited but trying not to squeeze so hard as to pain any of his still-healing wounds. Finally, laughing and crying in equal measure, she cupped his cheek in her hand, pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, and found her voice enough to say, “Yes, Killian,” as she slipped her finger through the metal circle of the ring, then clasped their hands together. “Of course. I’m yours.”


	20. Like an Arrow to the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this one was new and different for me – stretching my fic writing wings so to speak. I had never really focused a fic on Robin Hood before I tried this one; though I adored his character, I had never been sure I knew him well enough to write him believably. Still, after the “Our Decay” (5x16) episode, I was so struck by his reaction to seeing and holding his baby once again, that this just kinda happened.

“Like an Arrow to the Heart”

 

The intermingled pain and joy which pierce Robin Locksley’s chest in equal measures nearly steal his breath; they are a physical ache which pulls him back on his heels for a moment or two while he focuses on gathering deep breaths in and out, grounding himself until the immediate shock of fear and dismay settles down. He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them to take in Belle standing before them with his little one in her arms, and steels himself to speak calmly. No matter how good her intentions or the fact that the plucky librarian has kept Zelena from stealing the defenseless babe, his infant daughter is now in the Underworld, and the very thought churns his stomach.

It had not been an easy decision to leave her and her older brother with the fairies in Storybrooke. Going away when his newborn was still so tiny and needing her papa was not a choice he had reached lightly, and whether she was the girl’s mother by blood or not, Robin knew it had pained and troubled Regina as well – but they had attempted to do what was safest and best for his children in a dangerous situation, while still striving to set the kind of example he had always attempted: live honestly, bravely, help those in need, and sacrifice for family, for those one loves, whatever the cost. His family was heading into danger, and Robin had simply known he would not be able to live with himself if he stayed behind in relative comfort rather than following and offering what assistance he could. Yet, he had never wanted his children to be endangered; there had been no question that they couldn’t in good conscience be brought along on a trip to the domain of Hades himself. And now, despite his best efforts, here was his little girl all the same.

Yet really, he can’t help himself; at seeing his child again, he wants her in his arms. Somehow, Robin finds the words to thank Belle graciously for her efforts to protect his wee babe. In the back of his mind, it strikes the archer once again what fortitude this dainty librarian has, what a brave willingness to stand up for those in need, no matter how powerful or dangerous the opponent she faces. Her willingness once long ago, when she was still just a maid in the Dark One’s palace, to defy Rumplestiltskin and set an imprisoned thief free had saved his life, and by extension, Marian and Roland’s. The fact that Belle has no magic, only faith in what is true along with sterling loyalty and a stubborn desire to see the best in others, only makes it more stunning that she has tangled with countless monsters other than the Wicked Witch of the West she has just bested, and lived to emerge on the other side of the encounters. In this newest case, she did it for two babies to whom she owes nothing but her own affection. Somehow, surprisingly, for the moment at least, she has managed to come out on top. It’s enough to make him wonder – and he’s surprised more people haven’t – how she ended up in the thrall of a being so devious and power hungry as the Dark One. Shaking his head, Robin knows most would find his musings a bit blind, considering his love for the Evil Queen, but Regina has scratched and clawed to turn her bruised, marred heart around – not always graciously or successfully, but steadily and painfully, as all true change comes – and Rumplestiltskin has most assuredly not.

Giving the petite brunette a tentative smile, he reaches out to receive his daughter from her arms. Belle offers the child back to him willingly, though the sheen of unshed tears glistens in her eyes, and she brushes a wistful finger tenderly down the tiny girl’s soft cheek as she draws her hand back. It is not hard to imagine she wishes for a child of her own to hold, even though he cannot know that she is already expecting and has only just learned her child is in danger of being taken from her as well, a pawn in a deal she had no part in making.

Refocusing quickly, Robin is stunned once more by his daughter’s innocent beauty. Her perfect little face crinkles in sleepy confusion, clearly not sure what to make of her strange, hazy and red-tinted new surroundings. Yet, she makes a sweet little gurgle and offers what seems to be a gummy smile up at him, ‘As if she knows her Papa,’ he lets himself think affectionately, and his heart truly swells when Regina inches closer to his side and looks over his shoulder to coo at the burbling child right along with him, to which the baby reaches up a chubby hand and clutches at his True Love’s elegantly manicured fingers.

He hears Regina’s breath catch in happy surprise, and her lovely dark eyes flicker up to meet his hesitantly, as if questioning his response or thinking he will feel her intruding on a private family moment and wish her to keep her distance - the furthest thing possible from how he really feels. For all that she has done, despite the villain she has been, he can see the great capacity for love in Regina’s heart, the gentleness that has perhaps always been hiding behind the carefully constructed cold beauty she projected as a wrathful usurping monarch. Her pride and adoration clear on her face every time she looks at Henry, the doting care she has always given Roland, make him more sure than any lion tattoo or pixie dust prophecy that she was meant for him, a father with two children in need of a devoted mother strong enough to survive the life full of unpredictable dangers that they all live.

Cradling the infant close, Robin moves forward, seeking higher ground, a safe spot, and in his heart knowing the shelter he seeks has only ever been found in the forest. His love walks with him, close at his side, and Belle flanks him on the other wordlessly; each of them in their own ways wanting to help, to care for and protect his infant daughter. The knowledge twinges powerfully in his chest once more: he is not venturing forward on his own, will not have to be both parents to this precious baby girl, and though keeping her safe is his treasured duty, it will not be viewed as his task in isolation. This little one will not have merely an honorable outlaw for a father, but an entire band of heroic family who simply do not know how to give up.

He had wanted to keep her from danger above anything else, but some part of him thrills to hold his child in his arms once more, and he trusts more than ever that with all those around him who would see her well, they will be more than able to keep her safe after all.


	21. Home for Me is Where You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit of post-finale/season five finale missing scene with more of the sweetness and joy I wanted for Killian and Emma after all they have weathered…  
> They still don’t belong to me, but I hope you enjoy!

“Home for me is Where You Are” 

It isn’t until they have all traipsed into Granny’s – weary, but home safe and victorious once more – and been seated around the Charming-Mills table in the corner for a calming return dinner that Emma notices the red marks fading but still present on Killian’s neck. Frightened, though it might be belated, and startled that she hadn’t noticed immediately, her hand comes up almost without her accord, her fingers tracing delicately over his throat with concern and a sharp intake of breath. Someone appears to have tried strangling him.

“Ah, Swan…” Killian tries to intervene, eyes darting around the table as the rest of their little family group’s attention is arrested by her ministrations. Scratching behind his ear as he often does when discomfited, Killian dips his head, blocking both her view of the marks and her further exploration by touch. He clears his throat nervously before trying again, as he also catches her hand and interlocks their fingers. “Perhaps now is not the best time.” He can feel her parents’ and her boy’s eyes on them, and it is too close in the room suddenly, like they are on display. At any rate, Killian can feel the tips of his ears heating and tingeing pink at the attention. 

His Love is not one to be deterred though – not when it comes to him, not anymore. Shaking her head as if to clear away his protests, she pulls his hand in hers toward her body, drawing him closer. “Don’t do that,” she admonishes in a murmur for his ears alone, not wanting him to suffer in silence merely to spare her, or anyone of them, inconvenience. “What happened, Killian?”

Looking anywhere but into her intent green eyes, her pirate knows if he does he will spill everything right in front of her entire family: the gripping panic that he would get himself killed by some dark monster so soon after being brought back to life, the frustration of not being at Emma’s side while she ventured off with Regina, who was clearly hurting and tempted to lash out, the stark despair at thinking Henry might succeed in destroying magic before they could get the portal reopened and that he and her parents might be forever separated from Emma. There is much more than the dull ache of a fading injury hovering on the tip of his tongue, but he refuses to mar this quiet moment, this chance to be with her and be happy in the presence of her – their – family while things are good and the immediate threat has passed. 

However, while Killian is trying not to bring more focus to their misadventure in the world of Jekyll and Hyde – whoever the bloody hell they are – David appears to have no such compunctions, though he stumbles at the widening of his daughter’s eyes and the way she stares at him as if trying to comprehend how they possibly got themselves into so much trouble and had almost lost her pirate again so quickly. Things could have fallen apart, gone completely to pieces and left her without him once more, and she hadn’t even been there, wouldn’t have even known where to go to bring him back.

Emma feels her fingers strengthening in their grip on Killian’s when her father gets to the part where the four of them had been caged behind metal bars, and how Hyde had grasped Killian’s throat and squeezed so hard David had been sure he could no longer breathe, no matter how he tried to help pry those monstrously strong fingers loose. Despite her best efforts to take the knowledge in stride and tell herself it was already over, Emma’s heart still flutters in nervous distress for her pirate. 

David could kick himself as he lets the story trail off at seeing the stricken look on his daughter’s face. When they all sat down a few minutes ago, Emma had looked so happy, flush with love and carefree in a way he didn’t think he had ever seen her. True, after the debacle with Lily, the revelation of he and Snow’s horrible mistake before the two girls’ births, and the exposure of their lying to keep the dirty secret, he never wants to withhold the truth from Emma again, but she should have had more time before the worry and hurt from the rest of her life came back in full force.

“Emma,” Killian tries softly, placing his hook beneath her chin and tilting her face up to meet his while rubbing his thumb soothingly over her hand clutching his. “It’s nothing, Love. We’re right here together and fine. Don’t give it another thought.”

But she stands quickly. He can feel her trembling – practically vibrating – as, shaking her head, she tugs gently, urging him to stand as well and shooting her parents and Henry an apologetic look. “Guys, I’m sorry to run, but I can’t sit here right now. I just need a minute. We need a minute. I want to look at what I can do for that welt before it scars and really, we shouldn’t hang out here long…” She shrugs apologetically, a sheepish smile crossing her face to go with it, and her heart is warmed when her mom smiles back at her serenely, the look in Snow White’s eyes telling Emma that she completely understands needing a moment just to be alone with her True Love when he has almost been lost to you, to hold him close and simply be.

At Snow’s nod, Emma turns to Henry, but he is already grinning, wise beyond his years and his kind, understanding nature seeming restored after their trek to NYC, their wishes in the fountain, and Violet’s faith and gift of a first kiss. “Kid, do you think-”

Henry interrupts before she can even finish, grinning widely at both she and Killian. “Go Mom, it’s fine. I think my other mom might like to have me with her tonight.”

She sweeps her wonderful, empathetic, beautiful boy into a tight hug, whispering into his hair that she’ll meet him here for breakfast in the morning, that she loves him and she’s proud of him. Pulling away, she sees Henry turn his eyes to her other True Love and actually seem to be blinking back and fighting down some emotion.

Killian holds out a hand tentatively as if to shake with her son man-to-man, but then appears near tears himself when Henry bypasses the offering to throw his arms around her pirate’s waist and hug him tightly. There is a fair bit of manly sniffing and throat clearing, and both of them hold on for several healing seconds before separating once more.

Henry gives a nod and tremulous smile though there’s a twinkle in his eye as he croaks, “I’m glad you’re back, Killian,” hoarsely.

“Glad to be here, Lad,” her pirate rasps in return, squeezing Henry’s shoulder affectionately.

Then they are outside on the sidewalk in the gathering dusk, her arm linked through Killian’s, head leaning on his shoulder. A gentle cool breeze comes in off the water, lifting her hair and skirting across her neck and forehead, calming the agitation and concern she had been experiencing before they made their escape. Once out of sight of anyone who might look out from the diner, feeling a modicum of privacy on the deserted street, even if they are still near the center of their nosey, close-knit little town, Emma turns Killian to face her, hands on his forearms and gazing up playfully and full of love into his stunning eyes. “Okay, Captain, hold up a minute. Let’s take a look.”

Killian dutifully stands still as she brings up her outstretched palm, slowly moving it in front of him; there is a warm glow of light for a moment, he feels a pleasant tingling sensation, and the lingering discomfort from Hyde’s strangling grasp is gone. He knows without looking that she has healed him completely. His eyes are adoring and awestruck as he lifts his hand to touch the perfectly restored skin though he never breaks his gaze from hers. “You’re bloody marvelous, Swan,” he whispers, lifting the back of her hand to brush his lips over her skin. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Pirate,” she replies saucily, giving him a wink along with her reply. “You didn’t need to be hurting when I could fix it, but there was no need to have everybody staring like we’re some spectacle. Besides,” here she curls her fingers around the curve of his hook, urging him forward with her as she starts walking again. “I needed to get you out of Granny’s. Going and hanging out there just makes us easier to find when the next catastrophe strikes, and I think we’ve earned a little time to ourselves.”

Killian feels his pulse skyrocket; even though Emma is playing innocent, she is setting his blood on fire. Waggling his eyebrows at her, he lets his tongue push out the inside of his cheek a moment before salaciously licking his lips, his stare never leaving her face. By now, when she is no longer hiding herself from him, he knows just what he is doing to her. “Why Sheriff, do you have nefarious plans for this dastardly pirate?”

He expects her to flush, laugh, and brush the comment off, but instead she continues to hold his gaze until breathily whispering, “Maybe I do.”

Their pace quickens after that until another five minutes find them at the front gate of the white picket fence surrounding the house he and Henry chose for her.

Hesitating a moment, Killian turns to speak to Emma once more. “Love, wait,” he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I am grateful beyond measure to be back here with you, to have another chance, but this…this is your home, Swan. Yours and Henry’s. I do not wish to impose, or to rush what we have. I can make my way to the Jolly and meet you both in the morning.”

Emma doesn’t even let him finish, winding her arms around his neck, delving her fingers into the thick, black hair at his nape and pulling his lips down to hers, effectively silencing him. When they finally part, breathless, she makes clear her intentions, simply but with fervor. “No, Killian, stay. Please. I’ve been counting on sleeping for a week since Camelot, and I need you with me to do that. I need to know you’re here and safe or I won’t rest, not now, after everything.”

His throat tightens at her heartfelt words, not sure he could sleep without her either. Giving a short nod, he only agrees with her in a soft, “As you wish.” 

Walking through the gate to their house – their long-awaited future – her smile as she turns to him is brilliant light. “It’s yours too, Killian,” she promises, “Welcome home.”


	22. Helpless When She Smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was an entry for a summer hiatus prompt initially, but it’s more DaddyCharming reflection just before Emma and Killian’s wedding than Captain Charming bonding this time around. There’s not a set time in canon where this one goes, it was still more of a hope for the future than a certainty back when I originally wrote this… Hope you enjoy! This one has always held a special place in my heart…

From the very moment she was born, all he had ever wanted was for his daughter to be happy. As an infant, still squalling and red, tiny fist waving in the air, he had bent to kiss her forehead and heard Snow quietly grieving, begging him to take Emma to the wardrobe, though he had wanted nothing more than to keep his only child safe, to hold on even a second longer, despite being impelled to let her go. Tears had spilled down his face unashamedly after gathering her tiny body to his chest while swords flashed and he fought his way through Regina’s guards. When he’d placed her on the floor of the enchanted wardrobe, closed the door, and sent her beyond reach and knowledge, he had surrendered to his wounds with calm acceptance, knowing he left behind a world where he had already lost his little princess before he could know her.

When the curse had broken – when Emma, his grown daughter, had broken it – and she had appeared before them, all questioning eyes, blond hair, and red leather, he had wanted nothing more than to hold his child in his arms once more. He was stunned by how lovely she was, not having seen her as a little girl in braids and pigtails or an awkward pre-teen all gangly knees and elbows; his Emma stood before him a woman, strong and beautiful, despite the brokenness which had forged her strength. He hated that he had not been there to teach her so many things, to let her know how very much she had been wanted and loved every day as she was growing up. He would have shown her how to ride and sword fight as well as waltz, assured her of how precious she was, and frightened within an inch of their lives any spoiled, unworthy suitors who ever thought of hurting her. So much of Snow is in her. The very shape of her face, the round apples of her cheeks, and the determined jut of her chin bring to the forefront of his mind the bandit who stole his heart with a rock to his jaw all those years ago. 

Snow had already moved forward, arms open to envelop their child, and he followed his True Love closer to Emma as if in a trance; overcome while all that had been forgotten flooded back into his memory and the wait for his child to save and find them again finally reached its end. As his arms came around both Snow and his daughter, his strong hand had come up to shield Emma’s head protectively, feeling the fine, soft silk of her hair against his skin, and it seemed that everything had fallen back into place, that there was no more natural gesture in the world.

Emma had not let them in easily. It had been a slow and painstaking process to earn her friendship and affection, much less her trust and willingness to share with them. He had endeavored to forge a bond with her as best he could and to be patient in his hope that she would come to see them as her parents, and to accept that she had a family and a home, that she should have always been a princess, not a lost little girl who believed she mattered to no one and never would. When he learned that she had fought the dragon Maleficent with his own sword, just as he once did, his chest swelled with pride. When she and Snow were swallowed by the magical hat and taken back to their homeland without him, he felt panic and despair like he had never known at losing them both again, and this time being aware of the loss.

When Hook brought her back to them from New York, and Emma turned up on their doorstep eyes wide and hopeful that he would remember her, he had pulled her into a fatherly hug and once more cupped the back of her head in his hand, as if somehow he could turn back the years, welcome her home at the end of the day, and comfort her when she had been upset all those times they were apart and she had needed her dad. The smile that blazed across her face with the brightness of the sun itself had been a wake up call. She might no longer be his little girl, but he would do anything to see her smile like that.

He did so again when she and her pirate – who was grudgingly becoming his friend – returned from their adventure in the past. He had shared Emma’s embrace with Snow and drawn in a shaking breath, heart positively stuttering in its rhythm as she gave him a watery smile and called him “Dad” for the first time.

No, Prince Charming realizes now, fairy tale characters they might be, but their lives will never be easy or simple. He will never get back the years he missed with his firstborn. He may not be able to heal every scar that growing up as an orphan gave to his child, nor to right every misstep he and Snow took along the way while trying to secure their daughter’s best chance and to protect the Savior. His relationship with Emma may not be what he would have hoped for or dreamed of not long ago, but it is something he treasures all the same. She is a partner, a friend, a true hero – so many things he could not have foreseen.

So when her True Love comes to speak to him one night while their loves are out together and Charming is alone in the loft, wanting to give just this much to tradition and get his mate’s blessing to ask for Dave’s daughter’s hand in marriage, Charming bites back the overprotective protest that rises in his throat and nods his assent as a film of unshed tears swim blearily across his vision. He sees a bit of himself in the former villain Captain Hook. Just as he was a humble shepherd, Killian Jones is also a commoner daring to love a princess. To the outside world, both of them would seem unworthy of the women whose hearts they sought to win, but he sees that, just as he was for Snow, this pirate and man of honor is the only one who can love his fierce, courageous daughter as she deserves. Clasping the other man’s shoulder, ‘yes’ is the only answer he can give.

It is no surprise to anyone then – accomplished warrior and ruler though he may be – that Prince Charming sheds more than one tear and cradles Emma’s head as he hugs her at the end of the aisle before placing her hand in Killian’s on their wedding day. The smile she gives him then is the brightest he has ever seen wreath her face, and he finds himself smiling back, glad that in this case he is not truly losing her; they are only adding a dashing rapscallion to their heroes and rogues gallery of a family. He manages not to choke on the words “her mother and I do” when asked who gives this woman to be married and looks on with pride at his daughter fully allowing her heart to be open to joy as well as hurt at long last.

He has had to give her away more times than he can count, but he would do anything to make her happy after all the pain she has been through. He may not be able to keep her with him always, but in this family they always find each other, and his Emma has more than proven that she is no exception.


	23. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another I wrote for a hiatus challenge between seasons five and six. The prompt for that day’s challenge entry was “Enchanted Forest”, and I’ve set it sometime in the future, when all of our “Once” characters have returned to the EF to live (as I fervently hoped they would at show's end).

“New Beginnings”

 

This time it hadn’t been a curse that brought them all back to their homeland, but a choice. After defeating Hyde, restoring Dr. Jekyll to his real self so he no longer had to be split between his kindly, mild-mannered nature and the uncontrollable brute of his own creation, and setting right all the various characters the menagerie of untold stories unleashed and helping them return to where they belonged, it had seemed best for everyone to finally revisit the place from whence they came. Maybe things would stop being thrown off course at every turn if they were in the realm where most of them truly belonged.

Emma had agreed with the decision, though not without hesitation, wanting to see her parents able to restore their kingdom, Henry finally get to be the knight his heart had always deemed him, and Killian free to sail the Jolly on missions for her father, helping heal relations with the other remaining scattered kingdoms, rebuild the Royal Navy (head it up, if the truth be told) and then return to her in a land where for once he isn’t the one constantly out of the loop, having to learn and make adjustments to all that he knows. However, now it is she who sometimes feels lost, wrong-footed, like she doesn’t fit in. This isn’t the land she knows; she may have been born here, but she never lived here, never got to experience it before she was gone; had never missed something she couldn’t have…

She is standing in the open, airy room with its intricately colorful walls, brand-new and extravagant toys, and one-of-a-kind handcrafted crib, looking out the window over the harbor and to the sea beyond from the room which should have been her nursery, when Killian finds her, one morning a few months after their arrival in the Enchanted Forest. They have been living in her parents’ castle ever since, yet still with plenty of privacy – a whole wing has been allotted to their own little family with Henry – but she is the only one who sometimes wonders off alone as if searching for someplace familiar in this castle she should know like the back of her hand. Lost in her own thoughts, he watches Emma’s fingers trace along the smooth wood of the windowsill pensively as she stands at the open casement. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t appear to have even noticed his presence.

Coming to stand just behind her, not encroaching into her personal space, but near enough that if she wishes his comfort she can turn to pull him closer. Setting the steaming mug of cocoa Granny had managed to finally approximate on the dresser. He lays his hook gently on her shoulder, moving slowly, patiently, even though he had been hurried just moments before. When the Widow Lucas had told him she thought she had gotten the drink to taste the way it had at her diner in Storybrooke, he had eagerly brought the first cup to Emma, knowing she had been missing her favorite beverage. Hand now free, he reaches out to stroke it through the lovely silk of her hair. “Alright there, Love?” he asks.

She turns, drawing in a ragged breath as her eyes come up to meet his, sucking him into her orbit as they always do. Emma doesn’t speak, merely nods, but on seeing what he has brought, her eyes light up, despite the swirl of emotions he had just been sensing from her. “I am now,” she answers with a growing smile, as she takes his hand and pulls him nearer, burrowing into the warmth of his chest and wrapping both arms around his midsection as their bodies meet.

“Aye, Granny managed hot chocolate in our more rustic surroundings at last,” Killian affirms, picking up the cup again and offering it to her. “With cinnamon, I made sure. Have a taste of her first success.”

“Thank you,” Emma murmurs, bringing the mug to her lips and upon her first swallow, closing her eyes and humming with pleasure at the warm, deliciousness of the sweet, decadent concoction.

He chuckles, bending his head to brush a kiss to the crown of her head and then standing quietly beside her as she sips and they both watch the world going on below them from their window view.

She glances sideways at him from under her long lashes after a few pleasantly quiet moments and asks, “You know I wasn’t talking about the hot chocolate, don’t you, Killian?” She wets her lips and pushes her hair back behind her ear before drawing in a deep breath and continuing. “I mean, about saying I was better now? That had nothing to do with hot chocolate…it’s because – because you’re here…” She stumbles a bit on the admission and falls silent once she gets it out, blushing prettily and dropping her eyes, but it makes his heart swell with gratitude and joy.

Pulling her into his embrace once more, Killian whispers huskily into her hair, “Do you regret us coming back here, Swan?” His hand and hook trace tenderly over her back through the layers of dress and corset she wears now, and she feels her breath stutter at the contact despite her tumultuous emotions. Trust him to read her as usual and get right to the heart of her turmoil.

She shakes her head ‘no’ before finally saying. “Not really – well, not usually anyway. Henry loves it, and my parents belong here, ruling and taking care of their people. They would have never come back without me. I miss my jeans and boots, and my Bug, but I don’t so much belong to any place as much as I do with you, and with them, wherever that happens to be. It’s just…this room…sometimes I can’t help but wonder. This room is full of nothing but dreams and wishes that never came true. It still makes me a little sad. We’re all together now…but sometimes I still wish for what could have been…you know?”

He nods, knowing exactly what she means. Several possible responses come to mind as he wants to soothe, to make things better, but he holds them back. He isn’t sure if saying that they might never have met if it weren’t for the way things had gone, that she wouldn’t have her lad if she hadn’t been elsewhere to meet Baelfire at just the time she did, or that they would certainly not be together now, if she were the type of princess she had been born to be, would be helpful. None of those replies seem right, and he doesn’t want to belittle her pain. He aches to say that maybe – someday – this room will not have to stand empty any longer, but he fears now is not the time for that either. He is happy just to be with her whether that day ever comes or not.

Still, Emma surprises him, putting the cup of hot cocoa aside on her dresser and reaching up to trail her fingertips across his cheek. “It’s delicious, but I’d better not have too much,” she shrugs when he looks at her in confusion, a question on the tip of his tongue. “I shouldn’t have a lot of caffeine.” There is a twinkle of mischief in her lovely green eyes that Killian doesn’t quite understand, and he can’t keep himself from asking her what she’s on about.

“Let’s just say,” she muses, trailing her fingers down from his face to play lightly along the open collar of his billowy shirt and the exposed part of his chest, “that I want to be careful to do everything just right, and maybe before long this room won’t be unused.... maybe it can finally serve its intended purpose….”

Killian’s blue eyes widen in disbelief for just a moment before they are flooded with joy and excitement. He has to begin his next question several times before he can voice it sensibly. “Lass, do you mean…truly? Are - are you with child? Our child?”

She nods happily, looking ready to burst at his exuberant reaction. Laughter peals from her lips as he picks her up and spins her around in his arms. The whole nursery looks different now, and if she needed to come all the way back to her beginnings to have this moment with him, then she is right where she belongs.


	24. Permission Granted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story was written for Jennifer - @whimsicallyenchantedrose over on Tumblr – in particular, who prompted me to write a story where Killian is seeking either Charming’s or Henry’s blessing/approval to propose to Emma for my 100 follower celebration.

“Permission Granted”

“Oi, Dave!.... Mate? You here?” the Captain’s voice rings out clearly along with his firm rapping on the doorframe as Killian Jones enters the sheriff station seeking out the Prince in the empty quiet of a slow afternoon in their small, sleepy town. Since Hades’ defeat, things have been relatively calm in Storybrooke, even allowing Emma, her family, and himself to slip into a placid, relaxed, and dare he say normal, routine. Most afternoons, only Dave or Emma need to be on duty to keep paperwork caught up at the station. Not that they want to count on this lull in the fairytale action – that would probably be enough to jinx the peace and bring some new chaos raining down on them. 

“In the office, Jones!” David calls out absently, glancing at the clock to see that he has lost track of time and missed lunch, but not sure what his daughter’s boyfriend is doing here when she is not. He and the pirate get along remarkably well after all they have been through in Neverland, the Enchanted Forest, the past, Camelot, and the Underworld, but generally Killian chooses to spend a bit of time on his ship or to be out helping Emma or engaging Henry, not checking up on him at his desk work. They certainly hadn’t made any plans for this afternoon that David can recall.

When the Pirate eases his way into the enclosed main office where the Prince is seated behind the desk though, it becomes clear that something is weighing on Jones’ mind. He bears a large bag of takeout food from Granny’s which he promptly offers to his love’s father, then moves almost unconsciously to scratch behind his ear with his now-free hand. David has enough of his daughter’s sharp observational skills to know by now that this is his friend’s biggest nervous ‘tell’, and the feeling is further confirmed when Killian clears his throat awkwardly, gestures toward the chair in front of the desk as if asking to be seated, and sinks into it heavily at David’s nod, before practically stammering, “Ah, Dave…might you have a moment? I need to speak with you on a matter of some importance.”

The former ruler turned sheriff’s deputy is both intrigued and amused now, wondering what could be going on and how it could have the man who is usually so smooth and adept with words stumbling over a simple question. Trying to ease the other man’s tension with a bit of humor, David sweeps his arm out to indicate his empty workplace and jokes, “I don’t know, Killian… Can’t you see how swamped I am with people who need my attention?”

His words manage to bring a short huff of laughter from the pirate’s mouth, quirking his lips upward in the momentary flash of a smile, but then his eyes fall to his lap where he toys with the tip of his sharp steel moniker in the fingers of his other hand. “Aye, I see just what you mean,” he murmurs good-naturedly, but David senses he has not eased the weight on Jones’ mind and he sobers, hoping that this important matter isn’t something as troubling as the other man acts like it is at present.

“Killian?” he prompts seriously, drawing the Captain’s eyes up to meet his. “It’s fine. Whatever it is, let’s have it. You can talk to me.”

Killian dips his head gratefully in a succinct affirmative nod, wets his lips and begins, “Thank you, you Majesty.”

David opens his mouth to interrupt – especially when he realizes Killian is not being the least bit facetious with the honorary title – to tell him that they’ve been long past such formality for some time, but Killian plows on earnestly, and soon David is biting any words back, his stomach knotting with nerves of his own as it become crystal clear to him just what his daughter’s True Love has come to discuss.

“And so…” Killian is finishing up his rambled explanation; both hand and hook moving at times to accentuate his words, and eyes still anxious, but trained on the Prince with earnest focus as well, “while it may be old fashioned, and while your daughter is certainly a grown woman completely capable and in control of her own destiny, even so, it would…it would mean a great deal to me, Mate, to have you and your wife’s blessing to ask for her hand in marriage.”

David swallows down a choked snort of surprise – honestly touched and not wanting to offend the man who may well be his son-in-law quite soon. Though he has grown to grudgingly respect Hook and value his friendship – as well as feel grateful to the part he knows the other man has played in their daughter’s opening up to all of them – he is still a pirate, and his daughter is no traditional princess. He had not expected to be consulted on the matter, if they chose to marry at all, no matter how much his father heart might have wished it.

Not wanting to make Killian question his approval for even a second, the Prince gives a sharp, decisive nod, then states firmly, holding Jones’ gaze. “You have it,” he assures plainly, his voice and expression certain, ignoring the quaver of emotion that he knows must be evident for the other to hear in his voice if Killian so chooses.

For his part, the sailor makes no comment, but instead returns the regent’s nod of affirmation with one of his own, his whole face lighting with a pleased joy that David knows he has not truly seen the centuries old pirate wear, not until recently at least, when Emma let him into her heart fully and he became a definite member of their odd but fervent patchwork of a group. His voice is rough and more than a bit choked with emotion itself when he manages a response. “Truly?” all he finally asks.

David smirks a bit, unable to resist a bit of teasing for the man he had once thought was nothing more than ridiculous swagger, turncoat self-preservation and dangerously attractive innuendo, now that he has given his heartfelt answer and Killian still leaves an opening. With a horrible attempt at the Captain’s accent, he offers a wink as he says, “Aye, indeed I do.” With a snort of internal humor and shaking of his head, he then adds after a moment, “But Emma will have both our heads if she knows you came to me for permission like she’s some royal prize, and that I actually went so far as to grant my approval.”

“Truer words could not be spoken, mate,” Killian agreed. “I had hoped to keep this between us. Yet, I was once a lieutenant of the Royal Navy, and…despite what others may think, I value ‘good form’. It seemed only right somehow – you are her father, and she is a princess, though she’s had little chance to live as one.”

David nods his agreement this time, eyes fading to a far off look for a few moments and leaving little doubt in Jones’ mind that he is envisioning another life, a childhood his daughter never had and the type of fatherhood he’d never gotten to experience with his only daughter. Killian’s heart hurts for the man as he considers the loss and struggle his mate has suffered – despite being a noble hero – merely to reunite his family scattered for years over realms and to even live in peace with his True Love. He – and Emma too, whether she would admit it or not – deserves something suitably momentous and meaningful, both grand and romantic, as well as David being due the peace of knowing that someone loves and wishes to care for his daughter with the love and caring he himself would show. Killian plans to spend the rest of the time allotted to him on this earth in seeing that Emma is honored and adored as the princess she is.

He extends his hand, and Dave meets him with his own halfway, clasping hands to shake firmly. The current of agreement and understanding that passes between them bolstering Killian’s hope and needing no further words. 

A wry smile quirks the pirate’s brow as he stands once more, actually sketching a bit of a bow to his mate as he does so, preparing to bid him goodbye. Truth be told, his mind is now running ahead to the proposal he has in mind for Emma. Now that he has procured her family’s blessing, he can hardly wait the few hours until their date this evening to ask Swan to be his wife. “Thank you, your Highness,” he adds with only the slightest bit of sardonic mockery when he turns to leave.

“Um, Hook?” David calls out before he gets more than a couple of steps. “You may have forgotten the person you most need to speak to. Have you asked Henry what he’d think of you proposing to his mom?”

Killian turns back only partially, grinning over his shoulder in such a way that Dave can’t help but see he is joking. His eyes practically light up with mischief as he levels a dashingly roguish stare at his mate. “Who do you think I spoke to first?” he offers in a parting shot as he leaves the station, the prince’s hearty laugh at his last word ringing behind him.

His heart is light and his path clear before him; if Emma feels as he believes she does, then in a few hours’ time, Dave, Henry, and Snow will be his family as well. Between that and the idea of Emma agreeing to be his wife and them pledging to follow each other to the end of the world – or time – he cannot think of a happier possible ending for a reformed man of honor like him to receive.


	25. As I Lay Me Down to Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This little one shot was brewing in my mind for some time the summer after season five before I tried to put it into words, and this is basically me attempting to make the loss of Robin Hood just a little bit less horrible and senseless, and maybe even to add a glimmer of hope to the situation. It isn’t really AU I don’t think, more canon divergent/missing scene somewhere between 5x21 and 5x22. I know they probably won’t address anything like this in the show – though I think they could, and ought to – and of course I don’t own any of them, just exploring the possibilities a bit. Hope you enjoy! I’d love to hear what you think! )
> 
> (The title and the lyrics at the story’s end come from the song “As I Lay Me Down” by Sophie B. Hawkins, and hearing it again for the first time in years was actually what prompted the story idea, so I definitely wanted to give it credit.)

“As I Lay Me Down to Sleep”

 

The pen scratches furiously, the sound almost as angry as the bottled emotion violently swirling inside the young man writing as he pushes the rustic utensil across the heavy blank pages of the storybook. He sniffs back tears he has no time for, though a renegade few trickle down his nose from time to time, falling on the page before his pen, and forcing him to stop long enough to swipe an impatient shirt cuff across his flushed, somehow wet face or risk losing the words he is frantically scribbling down.

Breathing hard, Henry Mills finally pauses, drawing in a ragged breath and letting his eyes run back over what he has written so far. His ears prick up, straining to hear the murmur of his adopted mom and her newly reconciled sister speaking together in the dining room below. He knows from taking in the tableau before fleeing up here to his room, that Regina is rocking a shell-shocked Roland Hood in her lap, his small hand clutching her crisp linen sleeve, his face buried against her shoulder as she soothingly rubs his back. Zelena sits across from them, actually looking genuinely sorry as she holds Roland’s baby sister.

Henry feels a deep stinging in his chest just thinking of the blank, shattered look on the face of the little boy he already considers his brother. Already both of Roland’s birth parents are lost to him, before he is really even old enough to understand. The soul deep pain and below that the smoldering sense of betrayed anger in Regina’s eyes scares Henry almost as much, however; for though she struggles to hold it back and tamp it down for all of their sakes, Henry can almost hear her questioning what good it has done her to try heroism and right as if she has spoken the words aloud.

They all need Robin here – his quiet strength and calming presence bolstering his makeshift little band and transmitting safety and love. He should still be here.

And so, now Henry is doing something he knows he should not. Yet…he must, somehow the compulsion is in his blood. He is the Author, and the only one who can make this right. It doesn’t concern him at present that the chosen quill was left below in the Underworld, nor that he had previously decided to uphold the honor rightly and not succumb even a bit to the tempting lure of so much power – the ability to shape the story in the way he thought best. Faith and hope have not served any of them well today – the daring, noble legend Robin Hood himself least of all – and Henry knows with a certainty he has possessed since stealing onto a bus to Boston alone to find his birth mother and bring her home, that he is the only one with any chance to improve this travesty in any way, whatever the price he may have to pay in the long run.

He pauses after several more minutes’ flurried writing, biting his lip in serious thought as he lets his eyes run back over his work so far. It isn’t ideal, and it is not what he had wanted – not for his formerly villainous mom, not for the two orphaned children downstairs whom he had excitedly anticipated calling his siblings, nor for himself, as he had come to happily appreciate Robin Hood’s calm, unjudging opinion, his advice in tracking, exploring, and life, who had led Henry to envision a whole and complete family unit, sleeping outside in the forest where Robin’s men had chosen to reside in tents under the stars in the summer, learning bird calls and archery from a patient, endlessly impressive expert and an honest, bracing should to lean on from a man who was not taking the place of his father, but becoming one of two stepfathers whom he loved, each in their own ways, and had come to rely on being there for him as he grew into a young man.

Heaving a ragged sigh of bone deep weariness and pressing grief, Henry deems the storybook’s newest tale complete. There is nothing more he can do now but to wait and see what happens next. Hefting the ornate and old-fashioned cover up and over to lie on itself, closing the book, Henry sits, gathering his nerve, wishing there were some sign, some way to know for sure now – and not just in some future day, what will follow and if his words have done any good. He allows his index finger to trace along the gold lettering which had once seemed so flawless to him – the book had held all the answers unquestionably when he was ten.

Finally, he sets it aside on his nightstand where he knows his mother will see it when she comes to leave a kiss on his forehead and turn off his light as she always does. Henry hopes his effort has caused a true revision, but he cannot be sure. And if his mom finds his story, reads it, and gains comfort from it, then it has served at least some worthy purpose.

He closes his eyes tightly after pounding his pillow into shape, and rolling around restlessly for quite some time. He is not at all sure sleep will come for him, and for a moment he occupies himself with committing to memory each small detail making up the man he had wanted to someday call “dad”, to memorize the crinkles of good humor at the outside of his eyes, a seemingly wide and varied collection of green scarves and handkerchiefs to wear around his neck and heavy scuffed boots that told of his simple, no-frills approach to his environment and life in general. The man had possessed a rich, booming laugh and not been afraid to release it at corny jokes Henry shared with him, his son’s toddler antics, or whatever harebrained scheme he had been asked to be part of before rolling up his sleeves and doing his part. Henry almost chuckles tearfully at the memory of Robin asking sensibly enough how they even thought to get to the Underworld back when they had set out to rescue Killian, but the former thief had set off without hesitation all the same despite the fact that no one had offered him a very good explanation. The most admirable thing of all was that Henry truly believed Robin would have made the very same decision even if he could have known the end result would cost him his life. That thought almost derails his whole line of thinking into tears again. Instead, Henry forces himself to replay the story Robin had told he and Roland just a week or so ago of how he had first met “Little” John and their humorous exchange on a forest bridge that had left Robin soaking wet and the two of them friends for life. Finally, at envisioning a happier time and the man still alive, Henry feels his eyelids growing heavy and his eyes drifting closed. Though it is fitful and haunted, he succumbs at last to sleep, where his dreams are at least kinder than his reality has proven to be.

~~~~~~OUAT~~~~~~OUAT~~~~~~OUAT~~~~~~

Hours later, when she wearily comes upstairs to check on her sleeping son and tuck him in, Regina finds and reads Henry’s story – as he had intended. Ruffling his disheveled brown hair softly, in a way he rarely allows when awake these days – too full of embarrassed teenage self-reliance and bravado burgeoning into manhood in public, she then pulls his covers up to tuck warmly under his chin and turns to see the storybook lying open on Henry’s desk, pen still resting on top from where he had ceased writing, and she is unable to resist seeing what her son – the Author – has managed to say about the atrocity wringing all of their hearts dry.

Pursing her lips in concentration, Regina’s eyes begin to follow the lines of his scrawled bare emotion, pressing her mouth closed even tighter to hold back tears when she begins to absorb both the pain and healing in her son’s words. His knowledge of the book’s many previous tales and his love of a good story and what makes a reader care and pulls them along, is evident in what he has set down on paper – be it for his own release, her comfort, loving tribute to Robin, or a mix of all three. As Regina reaches the closing of Henry’s added story, she feels a momentary easing of her sorrow, a tremulous smile even touching her lips for a brief second as she closes the gilt-edged tome reverently.

Her heart flutters a bit erratically, knowing her son has bent the rules a bit, and she takes a minute to pray that if a price or penalty is exacted for making Fate’s ruling just a bit less harsh, that payment will come from her and not the sweet young man sleeping here before her, rapidly leaving childhood behind, but not his kindness or his knightly heroism.

Surely, in this case, perhaps the author can be granted a bit of leeway? Henry hasn’t taken back Robin’s sacrifice, returned him to life or restored him to his family as if consequences don’t exist. His change to the story they have just lived through like a waking nightmare is not nonsensical, for his own ruthless entertainment, or to gain himself any sort of power, fame, or benefit. If anything, it merely returns some meaning to the story once more – what happened now at least has some reason and grants a bit of closure. Her beloved boy has scripted an epilogue that allows her some sliver of hope for some future day when she might at last find her elusive happy ending. 

Bending to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, Regina vows to speak to Henry first thing the next morning – apple turnovers may be in order for breakfast – to take a moment to make sure he is alright himself with the loss and to make sure he knows that she appreciates what he has done, agrees with him that it is right, it is what Robin deserves, and she will stand beside him whatever may come from the decision to bring Robin’s untold chapter to life. Even just half an hour ago, she had wanted nothing more than to collapse into her bed and howl her bitter agony into her pillow until the bleak emptiness washed away. She wants to hide in the dark of her room, try to imagine the feeling of Robin’s larger frame curled protectively at her back, arms encircling her one more time, and to never emerge. She can’t though – she now has two fatherless boys and an infant girl needing a mother, and she cannot abandon them even when nearly overwhelmed by her own grief. It might be tempting to let her outrage at the injustice engulf her as she did once before, let it twist and warp her back into the monster she had been. But she sees Robin’s twinkling eyes, that smile he gives her, lower lip tucked into his teeth as he holds back his mirth, looking at her and seeing more than the Evil Queen , and she know that is not the path that he would want for her to travel, and certainly not in his name. He brought the light back into her darkness, and she will not extinguish it again. She will let it burn so that Henry and Roland and his little girl – his namesake – will always know it from here on out.

As she stands to leave Henry’s bedroom, Regina douses the lights and turns back in the doorway, the smallest trace of a smile lingering on her lips. The words Henry wrote for her, for her True Love, for his own once-again orphaned heart repeating in her mind:

 

Robin Hood steps into the dappled light of the forest clearing, enjoying the fresh breeze of the misty, dew-drenched morning. Sherwood has never looked so green and full of life, as the birds swoop and trill overhead. He feels a deep and abiding calm – unhurried, yet waiting on something, or Someone. He is not sure yet, but he will know when it appears, and until then he is happy in his element.

The sunlight casts its happy glow upon the trees and ground, and the beauty and peace which surround him remained unbroken. The thought filters into the archer’s mind gradually that he has never felt so untroubled and at ease, without trouble or care, before, as time seems to not so much pass as flow gently by in no calculable way that he can discern. He harbors no fear of being caught as a thief, of his band being in danger, of how he will keep his children fed and clothed, nor any of the lingering grief at Marian’s premature loss which has been his companion for many years. Then it comes to him with certain clarity, slipping into his mind and taking hold – he must be in his version of Heaven, of paradise. Though he is relieved and honored that a mere thief with a code would merit such reward as a welcome here – some of his concerns in life return to bear when he remembers what had happened with Hades and the look on Regina’s face as she reached for him while his physical form faded away, of Henry so close to being a man, so eager to learn and so accepting of the guidance he had offered now and then losing yet another male figure in his young life, and of Roland and his tiny daughter now orphaned in a world not their own.

The worries creeping back in to settle once more on his shoulders are just beginning to truly block the golden light of the sun in this haven, when a familiar, beloved voice calls his name.

“Robin, are you here? …Robin!” He turns to see Regina emerging from a path in the trees, and the cry of delight when she spots him, the laugh of surprised joy, and the way she then barrels toward him at a run, crashing into his open arms as unbound, happy, and lovely as he has ever seen her, his Queen.

Pressing a kiss to the top of her dark head as she presses herself as close to his body as she can get, Robin feels his chest swelling, overcome with the miracle of seeing his match once again. He has to ask though, mind whirling, not understanding how no longer existing and ceasing to be has somehow turned into a thrilling, miraculous reunion. 

“My Love, how are you here? You’re not… Hades didn’t… Regina, you aren’t dead as well, are you?” He can hardly breathe waiting for her answer, not daring to hope that she is well, safe, unhurt, and living the life he had to leave behind, cannot bear to think her boy has been left without her as well.

She shakes her head gently, pulling back to gaze up at him with deep, bottomless affection in her dark, beguiling eyes and reaching up to trace fingertips down the side of his face. “It’s alright,” she assures him softly. “The children are grown; they’re happy and have families of their own. All is well. It was time for me to move on. I could come here to find you – my True Love – at last.”

“How did you know I would be here? How did you know we could be reunited?” he asks, still trying to put it all together and marveling at the feel of her in his embrace. He has so many questions: How are his children? Who have they grown to become? How much time has passed? Where are they? But he senses there will be time for that now, and he finds he wants to simply hold her now, a desire Regina clearly shares. He leans in to rest their foreheads together, and to brush his nose against hers, nudging playfully in affection as he had done apparently long ago in that dark tunnel below the mayor’s office when he swore she was his future before plunging forward to meet his destiny and heroic end.

Regina only smiles up at him, tightening her hold at his shoulders and contentment lighting her face. “Because somewhere along the way – between my son, the Author, and you, the bandit hero who was able to see me as more than a villain, I found my own hope.”

The laugh lines she loves so much, and has missed painfully, crinkle at the corner of Robin’s eyes, and as he looks down at her with love, the thief and the regal begin their happily ever after.”

 

Moving down the hall to her own bedroom, Regina makes sure all of the lights in the house are off and all seems well, but the heaviness, the cloud of anger and pain weighing her down for the last 24 hours, has finally abated a bit. Slipping into a deep green silky nightgown that has always reminded her of the forest Robin had loved so well, she brushes her hair and crawls into bed in the quiet dark.

She tries to believe that the book will come to fruition, and that Henry in his role as Author has given her the best gift possible. Someday, though the road before her – the lonely wait of the years between – may be hard, she will see her love again. Robin will never be forgotten. He will be remembered and honored as he should, because once again he has lived, and lived well. With the promise of someday, her faith is restored. The tragedy still exists, but it is no longer final. That is the blessing of faith.

“…I’m still recalling things you said to make me feel alright,  
I carried them with me today  
Now

As I lay me down to sleep  
This I pray  
That you will hold me dear  
Though I’m far away  
I’ll whisper your name into the sky  
And I will wake up happy

…I’ll run to meet you barefoot, barely breathing  
…It’s not too near for me  
Like a flower I need the rain  
Though it’s not clear to me  
Every season has its change  
And I will see you  
When the sun comes out again

…Though I’m far away  
I’ll whisper you name into the sky…


	26. Cake by the Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This one is set post-season five finale, and Killian, Emma, and Henry are enjoying their new life together as a family. I don’t know that there is too much else you need to know to enjoy this one. I’m just imagining some of the lovely domestic moments that we don’t always get to see.)

“Cake by the Ocean”

 

“Oh come on!” Emma Swan’s voice rang out in a dismayed cry of frustration over the blaring wail of the smoke detector, even if reluctant humor tinged her words as well. “Seriously, Killian? This is exactly what I warned you about!”

A deep, resonating chuckle followed her as surely as his footsteps when she tore back into their new home’s kitchen, grabbed a towel, jerked open the oven door, and began frantically fanning the clouds of smoke which poured from within. “Come now, Darling,” he chided gently, his hook stroking lazily down her spine until she shied away from the touch. Though she refused to turn and look, Emma knew her pirate was leering at her. “Let’s not pretend you didn’t enjoy the distraction.”

Huffing out a breath, Emma turned to offer him an unimpressed look, fighting stubbornly to keep from either a blush or the concession of her attraction in her eyes, but instead rolling them at him and conveying annoyance. Whether or not his waylaying her had been delicious fun, he had caused her to ruin the birthday cake she’d worked so hard to make – for him. Baking much beyond macaroni and cheese or Pop Tarts was still a learning process, and she wanted so badly to create something delicious that Killian – or at least the ridiculous sweet tooth of his she’d recently discovered - couldn’t resist. However, thanks to his accosting her in their bedroom, what was meant to be moist, rich chocolate cake was now a charred, blackened hunk of garbage.

She turned to look at her erstwhile man, who was much too attractive for his own good and looking inordinately pleased with himself. When he had the gall to wrinkle his nose in distaste at the burnt smell now taking over the kitchen, she glared at his expression and took the intended dessert from the kitchen and strode to the back porch to dump the whole mess into the outside trash bin in a huff. “Don’t wrinkle your nose at me, Buddy,” she warned, “and no complaints about the smell. If you hadn’t been so determined to sidetrack me, we wouldn’t have a problem.”

Killian arched a brow maddeningly, looking at her with entirely too much knowing confidence and making Emma unsure whether she wanted to smack him or jump him. “Now, now, Love,” he purred in her ear silkily, hook rising again to trail along the edge of her wide-necked sweater and making her shiver. “Don’t lie to yourself. You were all too pleased just a moment ago when this nose and these lips were trailing along – “

“Oh no, I don’t think so!” she interrupted abruptly, pushing away from him and blushing furiously despite her best efforts. Emma wasn’t really that angry with him, and she also couldn’t deny the sheer magnetism her ridiculously handsome pirate held over her the moment he decided to wield it, but she was just stubborn enough to deny how affected she was, and to want him to show even the tiniest hint of remorse for ruining his own belated birthday treat. “You’d think I was making that cake for someone else, as determined as you were to sabotage it,” she grumbled, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel and then turning to him and almost unconsciously resting her palms on his chest, deliciously warm even through the cotton of his shirt; pretending to be cross with him worked about as well as trying to resist him in the first place.

Still, a genuinely sheepish look did cross Killian’s face as he stepped closer to her and brought hand and hook to rest on her waist, caressing softly. “Apologies, Lass, truly,” he offered in that gently lilting voice she really couldn’t resist. “I suppose I simply failed to see its importance to you.”

In that moment, understanding flooded over Emma, catching what was really going on in a flash of insight that would probably have been immediately clear were their situations reversed, Killian being so good at reading her it sometimes seemed he was in her head. Her handsome sailor wasn’t sure he wanted any fuss about his birthday, didn’t think anyone beyond Emma and Henry should care too much, didn’t want to put anyone out or cause any trouble; it made sense now why he had been subtly slowing her down and distracting her every step of the way as she had tried to put together a party, invite guests, make a cake, and find the perfect present. Now she saw why it had only been a slip with Henry that allowed them to know his birthday had passed at all.

Looking up into his beloved face, Emma sighed, bringing her fingers to trail along his scruffy cheek. “I shouldn’t be messing with all of this anyway, should I?” she whispered, searching his gaze hopefully, and seeing the way it cleared with relieved happiness at her words. “I’m sorry, Killian, this got out of hand and it should be about what you want anyway, not me.”

His eyes were so gentle and adoring, and his low, rich voice warmed her as he started to protest, “Oh Lass, I didn’t mean to imply that – “

She shook her head, grinning crookedly and taking his hand to pull him after her. “It’s alright,” she reassured, flipping off lights and making sure everything in the house was off as she lead him to the front door. “Come on, Pirate. Change of plans.”

CS^^^^^^^^^CS^^^^^^^^^^^CS

They ended up at the beach, princess and pirate, laughingly huddled together on a large piece of driftwood not far from the water line, a little colder than expected as the brisk New England weather had turned decidedly toward autumn, but laughing all the same, and both digging forks into a cake procured from Granny’s.

“We might have known that the formidable Widow Lucas would have some grasp of what a pirate such as meself would most enjoy as a birthday dessert,” Killian smirked joyfully, though his usually distinct speaking style was somewhat hampered by a mouthful of the rich, flavorful cake he was so happily enjoying he couldn’t seem to wait even a moment to shove another fork full of it in. 

“Well, I should have known a rum cake was the way to go,” Emma agreed wryly, “if I’d known such a thing existed.”

Both of them chewed and savored the sweetly spicy cake, and Emma couldn’t help fondly remembering Granny’s response when she had called the older woman a few hours back. After she’d explained her kitchen mishap and that she needed a cake for Killian, Granny had sounded so mischievously pleased with herself when she told Emma ‘I’ve got just the thing. Give me two hours and you can come pick it up,” that only Killian himself could have rivaled her tone of voice.

“Never fear, Darling,” Killian interrupted her reminiscence then as he nudged her shoulder and shot her a wink that made her pulse flutter. “I am certain I would have loved the cake you made me equally well. It is my fault after all that it was ruined, not a reflection on your skills.”

The way his lips formed the word “skills” and the inflection he placed on it made Emma shift anxiously on her perch beside him, almost unable to sit still without grabbing onto the edges of his new black vest and hauling him into her to taste the rum and sugar on his tongue. Trying to be satisfied just gazing at his profile for a second, the spell was broken a bit by more innocent affection when she saw that the sugar granules which had been dusted on top of the cake were now scattered in his beard and scruff.

Reaching out to brush it away for him, she grinned crookedly and murmured, “Aren’t you the sweet talker?” without any real bite to her words.

“Aye, Love, that I am,” he replied saucily, running his ridiculous, sinful tongue over his lower lip and then biting said lip as if he knew precisely what it did to her. “At the moment, I can say that quite literally.”

Both of them fell companionably silent for a moment, finishing up their delectable treat from the Diner’s wily proprietor and then curling into each other’s arms as the waves crashed against the rocky coastline before them.

Humming contentedly, Emma eventually pulled away from her pirate just enough to look up into his eyes with a teasing smile and add, “You know Henry has a present for you too when he gets back from Regina’s this evening.”

Killian tilted his head in genuinely confused surprise as he returned her happy gaze. “Truly? He needn’t have worried about that.”

Emma shook her head at him, having known he would feel Henry didn’t need to get him anything, but equally entertained by how determined Henry had been to find this man they both loved a perfect gift, and how set he had been on a reluctant Regina being the one to take him shopping. “You won’t be able to keep it a secret from him, Mom,” Henry had argued.

Emma worried again briefly if her newly teenaged son had too much an idea of Killian’s methods for making her talk, but all she said in response, scratching her fingernails through Killian’s hair behind his ears was, “There was no stopping him.” She paused then whispered with added emphasis, “He loves you, Killian…we both do.”

It was a touching, but no longer surprising, sight to see the infamous Captain Hook swallow a clear lump in his throat before he could respond, touched enough by her words that he had to gather himself before he spoke. “And I you,” he breathed out, voice a bit soft in awe, “both of you.”

Looking down just a moment, he wet his lips, watching their joined hands on his knee as he interlocked their fingers, and Emma waited, sensing he hadn’t finished speaking yet. “I am honored your boy would go to so much trouble, Lass. I don’t exaggerate when I say an actual age has passed since anyone cared to celebrate my birth…not since Liam gifted me with a sextant on my birthday just before I was made lieutenant and we set off on our ill-fated mission to Neverland.”

Emma could not have stopped the tears welling up in her eyes at that moment for any price; just considering again the long stretch of years Killian had lived alone in a burning agony of anger and vengeance, no longer able to see or imagine a way back out to the light. She reached out to brush her fingertips lightly over the faded scar high on his cheekbone soothingly. “Well,” she vowed solemnly, her voice trembling a bit with emotion, but her tone conveying just how seriously she meant every word, “you have two people now who can’t wait to celebrate birthdays with you from now on. More than that, actually. I mean, did you see how pleased with herself Granny looked when your eyes lit up at the sight of her rum cake? And my dad is really proud of what he and Mom picked out for you too.”

Killian’s eyes had been suspiciously shiny at the emotions their talk had stirred up, but at this last, they sparkled more mischievously. “Is that so, Swan?” he murmured, that eyebrow of his quirking adorably again. “The Prince picked out a gift for me, did he?”

Shaking her head at his antics, Emma chuckled softly and leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. “Yes,” she affirmed emphatically, not quite ready to give up her seriousness until Killian understood this point. “You know very well that you ‘won him over’ a long time ago. You’re part of our family…You have a family again, Killian.”

His face straightened once more as he gazed down at his love with full sincerity. “Aye, though I can barely believe it, I thank my lucky stars every day for that fact.”

This time, it was Emma’s gravity that dissolved into playfulness once the fraught moment had passed. “Oh, and one more thing,” she teased, making every effort to wiggle her eyebrows seductively as he did, even if she probably failed quite comically. “I have another gift for you before we meet up with the rest of them.”

Standing, Emma tried to employ a bit of breathy flirtation in her voice as she pulled him after her. Rubbing her curves up against his side for just a moment, she added huskily, “Why don’t you grab the rest of your cake and follow me? It’s on your ship.” She walked forward a few steps, then looked back over her shoulder and had to bite back a giggle at the way his eyes almost bugged seeing the extra sway she put in her hips.

“Is that so?” he asked, voice rasping huskily in spite of the feigned calm in his demeanor. “Will I like this mystery gift?”

She knew she had him then as she continued to lead him back up the beach to the docks, commanding herself to keep up her languid sashay instead of taking off at a run. She threw a wink back over her shoulder before she purred, “Oh, I’ve been assured that you love every part of it.”

Killian’s booted feet closed the distance between them in seconds and he was soon wrapping his free arm around her waist and propelling them forward at greater speed, much to her delight. As the sounds of their feet echoed on the rough wooden planks of the dock, he breathed in her ear. “In that case, my lovely little minx, I believe I know exactly what it is…and am already anxious to unwrap it.”

She could feel the flush spread hotly from her forehead to her toes as his lips brushed against the shell of her ear. Her knees suddenly quivered with so much anticipation that she merely waited unsteadily for his hand up to help her onto his ship.

He winked at her then, and murmured lowly, “After you, Love.” Then he swept his hand out to beckon her forward and followed her to the captain’s quarters.


	27. Sunset on the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this one in the summer before season six as well, so all of the things that had happened in show canon at the end of season five have happened here, but it isn’t long after the finale, so either Killian or Emma one decided not to dawdle as long, and they’re already getting married here.
> 
> I’m also sure that part of this come from my love of Disney’s “The Little Mermaid”. I’ve always imagined Emma and Killian having a sunset wedding on the Jolly like the one in the movie. Enjoy!)

“Sunset on the Water”

He could never in his wildest flights of fancy have imagined this day, this woman, this much happiness, coming to him. Killian Jones, dressed in the proud naval finery he had donned so long ago as a bright-eyed, hopeful young lieutenant, stood at the helm of his ship, Swan’s lad at his elbow, minutes from marrying his True Love. In all those years he’d spent lost in Neverland seeking the weapon to make avenging Milah possible, before that in all his years as a pirate, flouting the crown and taking what he pleased, and even longer ago, in his eternity as a slave to Captain Silver, forgotten and worn, breaking his back and scrubbing floors on his knees, beaten, ridiculed, and abused when he was noticed at all, never could he have dared to hope that he would someday win the favor and hand of a princess.

Henry chose that moment to nudge his soon-to-be stepdad’s shoulder, whispering in Killian’s left ear with a certain smile in his voice. “I’m glad you finally asked her, Killian,” and though it sounded as if the young man were teasing him for the hesitance he had felt, knowing that Emma loved him but not sure whether she would want marriage or not, he also heard the sincerity and genuine love in the young man he considered a son’s voice. “I knew she’d say ‘yes’… You’ve changed her, Killian, for the better. And you both deserve to have this day, before something else goes wrong.”

A small snort of humorous recognition at the truth in Henry’s words nearly escaped through Killian’s nose, but he managed to hold back as the music swelled and everyone on deck came to their feet at the first strains of the wedding march. In the next moment, his eyes became irrevocably fixed on the bit of movement he saw emerging on stairs up from the cabins.

When Emma’s golden curls wreathed by a crown of flowers as they had been in Camelot, though styled in more structured ringlets that curlicued over her shoulders and down her back, appeared in his vision, she literally stole his breath. Holding tremulously to her father’s arm, Emma stepped up onto the deck stunning in her beauty. The dress she wore – purest white and reminding him of the graceful bird her name suggested, despite her arguments against being so fussy and so traditional – was perfect, giving her the look of some beguiling nymph. The neckline was wide, baring her smooth, flawless shoulders, and the long, belled sleeves were mere gauzy confections, as sleek and elegant as the rest of the straight, simple gown which trailed to her feet with only a modest train skimming the wooden planks behind her. He was shocked to see that a few tears had already escaped and dried on her face, somehow having suspected that he would be the overtly emotional one – not his brash, fearless lass.

Unconsciously, Killian nearly moved toward her, eager to wrap Emma in his arms, to soothe and reassure, but he remembered himself in the nick of time, the ceremony already in progress and their loved ones watching. Her father was with her after all, and so he held his stance and his breath, anxious for her to take her place at his side.

In the first row of folding chairs bedecked with bows, Snow White grinned at him as if she had read his mind and approved of the urge to support and to strengthen. Her daughter had been without another to lean on for far too long, and the reformed captain could see in the lovely royal’s tear-filled eyes that she wanted nothing more from her daughter’s mate than for him to always protect Emma and put her first. Though the bandit queen had been disapproving at first and slow to warm to him, even after Emma had made her choice clear, Snow had long since welcomed him with open arms. In fact, as they had come to know each other better, Killian could see that, improbable as it might seem, he and Emma’s mother were quite similar in many surprising regards; just as Emma favored her father in both looks and demeanor and in life often charged forth in a manner which clearly echoed Prince Charming himself. After realizing it, he and Emma had chuckled over the resemblances, hearts warmed by what seemed yet another sign of how well-matched they were, that they had always been meant to find each other and patch one another back together. ‘Quite a team’ indeed, his mind echoed, flashing back for a fond moment to their very first adventure.

Once her father began to lead Emma forward, Killian could see his love draw a deep breath and straighten her shoulders perceptibly, moving without any more hesitation into her new life – their future. And after that, even if she was clutching Dave’s arm, Emma appeared to fairly float down the aisle they had made of the Jolly’s topside, and a tingle began under his skin in anticipation of being next to her once more.

The prince and his daughter reached the bow where Killian, Henry (gamely chosen as both best man and man of honor) and Belle, who had read up and gotten licensed online to serve as their officiant, stood. Dave shot him a gently warning yet playfully fond look, and Killian read it all too well and returned it with an eloquently arched brow and a smile of his own. He realized that Emma’s old-fashioned, protective father had to find some way to warn the pirate just once more that if he ever broke his daughter’s heart, he would make him regret it. Yet, that was tempered considerably by the fact that Killian knew Dave had come to hold him in high regard and by the genuine friendship which had formed between them. He never could have imagined that his nettling statement of winning the Prince over back in Neverland would so fully come true.

The royal gave him a small nod, understanding the look Killian sent back, and carefully placed Emma’s hand in Killian’s waiting grasp. Then he pulled her in for a fatherly kiss to the forehead, his hand cradling the back of her head protectively as he had both when Emma was an infant and he’d had to put her in the wardrobe and every time she had given him the chance since they’d been reunited. It took a moment before the man released his daughter again, and Killian felt a lump rise in his throat at the watery sheen in Prince Charming’s eyes.

That done, however, Dave didn’t hesitate again. He merely clasped Killian’s shoulder firmly, held his gaze, and then nodded his approval and turned to take his seat next to Snow, after stating with absolute certainty and warmth, “Her mother and I do” when Belle asked, “Who gives this woman in marriage?”

The rest of the ceremony proceeded with the sort of blissful perfection Killian had not believed possible in generally chaotic Storybrooke. The vows washed over him; the thoughts of joining his life together with his True Love, “ ‘til death do they part, in sickness and in health, as long as they both shall live”, no one to come between them, be it curse or villain or simple human misunderstanding, made him almost giddy with a level of joy he could not remember feeling before. It was all he could do to respond sensibly without whooping and hollering his deep delight, sweeping Emma up in his arms and twirling her around before the entire crowd. Instead, he nodded solemnly when Belle paused for his response, answered surely and steadily, “I do”, and beamed only at Emma, sure that she at least could see the boundless heights of his exhilaration.

His very own Savior, his brave, bright love, did indeed return his gaze with a knowing, small smirk on her face, and her jade eyes sparkled as if telling him she knew his secret – at least until it was her own turn to repeat her affirmation of the marriage vows. Her smile did not fade, but her voice quavered slightly, a faint mist of tears in her eyes, and Killian was pierced to the core by the fervency of her emotion when she swore “I do” as well.

The power of their feelings and their connection only swelled, almost vibrating in the air around them – to Killian’s senses at least – as they were instructed to place the rings they had brought onto each other’s fingers. The sense of completion that filled his being as Liam’s resized ring slipped into its perfect place on her left hand, made it as though everything in his world, all the trials before and the challenges to come, slid into place. This was precisely where they both belonged and were always meant to be. 

Similarly, when Emma slid the heavy platinum band, a large aquamarine stone and what appeared as rolling waves engraved on it, which she had worked with the dwarves to design, onto the corresponding finger of his right hand, it was he who fought back tears, nearly overwhelmed and brought to his knees by the beauty and significance of the moment. He wore no other rings on that hand anymore; Emma having finally convinced him that he was the man he had always intended to be – a man of incredible honor – and he no longer needed to carry those reminders and the weight of their guilt and pain. They had discussed if he wished to wear it on a chain around his neck, as she had done in Camelot, or if he wanted to put the ring on the fake hand he could wear in place of his hook, but he wanted such a vial sign of their love and their permanent bond on a real and vital part of him, where it would be always in his sight and visible to others as well. He was hers, just as she was his, and he wanted the world to know.

It only added to the unbelievable sense of excitement and bubbling good humor when he could practically feel Henry snickering quietly over his shoulder and the warmth of their gathered loved ones’ laughter and smiles as well. For a moment, Killian wondered almost dazedly if they could all read his mind, or if somehow his feelings were so immense, so powerful, that they could not be contained within and they were escaping to float in the air where all could see and experience them. Then he realized it was much simpler. He hadn’t let go of Emma’s hand since they’d put the rings on each other’s fingers, and without even realizing he was doing so, he had been pulling her closer and leaning into her as well, as inexorably as if drawn by a magnet, until Belle with a playful smile on her lips and a light blush high on her cheeks cleared her throat and said, “Since it would appear our groom is about to do so with or without prompting, I believe I should hurry to pronounce you now husband and wife.”

Emma’s cheeks flushed an adorably bright shade of pink as the group observing did laugh aloud at Belle’s gentle remonstrance and then broke into genuine applause as Killian pulled Emma into his arms and she went willingly, eagerly, every bit as glad as he to at last be pledging their troth, no longer to be parted.

He bent her backward in a deep, graceful dip, making Emma feel like the heroine in one of those romantic comedy movies she’d taken home from the Redbox in another life, after bringing in a particularly tricky skip. She’d watched them alone with a bag of Oreos in her pjs, never willing to admit she liked or wanted any part of such romance, and had mocked such tales if they ever came up in conversation, convinced that love didn’t exist in the real world. Their lips met and all those around them, the ceremony itself and the deck they stood on, all faded away as she was swept up in the sensation. It wasn’t until she felt what seemed like fireworks and starlight popping and blazing that she had to open her eyes, even as a burst of power rocked the boat and nearly knocked her off her feet, making her cling even more tightly to Killian’s shoulders.

Blinking, stunned to near disbelief, Killian realized they had just shared that ultimate True Love’s kiss Emma’s parents had made famous, and one more look into Emma’s wide, awestruck eyes told him she had realized the same. 

Henry’s voice called out then, as the lad’s hand shook his shoulder, pointing out over the rail to a huge, colorfully stunning rainbow arching over the water to the horizon. “Mom! Killian!” he exclaimed, the true believer’s enthusiasm brimming in his voice. “Your kiss did that!”

And as the waves rolled, more strongly than they had before, and they turned to look at their loved ones gathered to celebrate with them for the first time as husband and wife, Killian knew they would always be one, two wounded hearts molded together to heal. When a phone rang as he and Emma started down the aisle, the pirate’s eyes quickly spotted Leroy ending his call and already gathering his breath to sound whatever alarm was needed.

Raising his hand, as Emma was holding his hook in her own, he stopped the self-appointed town crier. “Not this time, Dwarf,” he growled, only half kidding, as Leroy swallowed hard enough to make clear he knew it. “My wife will not be robbed of her reception, her honeymoon, and all of the wonderful moments she well deserves to have and look back on. Whatever it is, you shall have to manage without us just this once.”

To everyone’s surprise, Leroy’s gruffly offered the smallest of awkward bows and shot him a half-grin in response. “You know, Captain, you’ve got a point. This one’s on us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~CS~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, when the cake had been cut and the first piece shared – Emma had smushed hers all around his mouth and even managed to get icing up his nose, while Killian had gently and delicately fed a careful bite to her – the bouquet had been tossed, and the pirate groom had playfully removed the garter with his teeth, swinging it on his hook in victory before tossing it over his shoulder to catch Archie by surprise when it landed right in his barely outstretched palm, the dwarf contingent returned, having set the situation at Clark’s drugstore to rights on their own, to find the newly wed pirate and princess diligently seeing everyone off the ship. Her parents and Henry, before hurrying to catch up with Regina who waited on the dock, were the last ones to leave, each hugging both Emma and Killian and telling them how happy they were for them.

Despite the wonderful, dreamy quality of the entire day, and how they had enjoyed spending it with all of those they loved, Emma felt herself drawing in a breath of relief, so glad to finally have her husband all to herself, and she thrilled to the next thought, that she would have him for the rest of their lives. As quiet and peace washed over the Jolly Roger and the water around them, the two of them stood at the helm in the sunset glow, eyes on the horizon, as they set sail for their future.


	28. Caught Off Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This little one shot was originally started for a group prompt event that I didn’t finish in time. It’s written after Emma and Killian are engaged and long past the time her parents really should learn not to charge into Captain Swan’s house unannounced. I thought it ended up pretty cute though, and there’s some Captain Charming as well as CS, which I love.)

“Caught Off Guard”

 

David Nolan, the Enchanted Forest’s Prince Charming turned deputy sheriff, whistles happily as he climbs the front steps to his daughter’s new home, enjoying the crisp autumn morning and looking forward to the boys’ day out he has planned, and for which he’s come to pick up his grandson and best mate. He raps his knuckles once sharply on the door, but doesn’t pause long enough to notice if anyone calls out a response – they should be expecting him and the door is unlocked, so he turns the knob and steps into the foyer. He can smell the warm, welcoming scent of fresh coffee brewing and hear cabinets opening and closing, along with the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. Chuckling to himself good naturedly, he heads in that direction, intending to help Emma, who has to be the one making so much noise. As amazing and capable as his daughter is in almost every other area of life, she is a disaster when cooking. If she is up trying to make a big breakfast to send her boys off, maybe he had better see if she needs a hand. 

However, as he rounds the corner and the kitchen comes into view, his smile freezes. His feet halt in their tracks and the happy greeting he’d been ready to speak dies in his throat as David nearly swallows his tongue instead. Right in front of him is his daughter, sleep mussed and tousled hair piled up on top of her head, one side of her shirt slipping off her shoulder to show too wide an expanse of skin, and legs bared all the way up to mid-thigh. Too late to retreat, a shocked wheeze escapes him as she turns, sees her father gaping at her and grabs at the barely buttoned front of the black shirt she’s wearing as an entire outfit. A shirt he realizes in turns of horror, anger, and embarrassment that he has seen before, on someone who isn’t his only daughter. She’s wearing one of the pirate’s old shirts – and it’s barely covering her at that!

“Dad!” Emma gasps, a blush staining her cheeks and spreading down her neck and more exposed chest than he really needs to see. “What are you doing here? Don’t you knock?!”

The prince stammers in his own shame, “Well, um…I…I did…once? Sorry…I just figured you guys would be ready…since Killian and Henry are going with me.”

“That’s tomorrow morning!” she yelps, sounding deceptively like the petulant teen he never got to meet. “Henry’s not even here!” She flaps a hand nervously, until she realizes it raises her hemline even more and jerks it back down, turning an even deeper crimson as she does and studiously avoiding his eyes.

Just then, as if the moment needed to get even more awkward, footsteps sound on the stairs and Killian Jones’ voice calls out mere moments before he appears in the kitchen as well. “Swan, what’s all the yelling?” he asks, rubbing his hand drowsily in his sleep-disheveled hair which is already standing up everywhere in dark tufts. A lazy smirk stretches over his face as a wicked twinkle lights his eyes. “Daydreaming about the Captain awaiting your return upstairs and catch the food on fire again?”

He clearly hasn’t noticed his mate’s presence in the room yet, at least not until Emma only responds with a pained squeak and Killian’s gaze slides over to see her father’s eyes bulging wide enough to look as though he is having an apoplexy. “Oh…hello Dave,” Killian offers much more quietly, flushing a bit himself.

With what piece of Emma’s brain is not completely flooded with embarrassment enough to think, her heart is almost warmed by the amount of chagrin Killian seems to feel, not quite meeting David’s eyes and clearly not wanting his mate to think less of him or to inadvertently make the situation worse. She had half expected him to tease or ‘poke the bear’ so to speak, roll his tongue salaciously against his cheek in that positively indecent way she loves, puff out his chest, smirk, arch that eyebrow, and basically send her father into a breakdown. However, her pirate is clearly more focused on not wanting to make the royal rescind the welcome he has been granted into Emma’s family. “Didn’t see you there,” he nearly mumbles, rather unnecessarily, eyes now glued to his shuffling bare feet with a shy evasiveness Emma has rarely seen from him. 

By the same turn, Emma’s eyes flick back over to her dad’s face, seeing him visibly trying to bring his reaction back under control and stay calm. She is honestly torn between wanting to cross the room toward him, pat him on the shoulder sympathetically, and put him out of his misery, and to heed her desire to flee the room, run upstairs to change, and not show her face again until she is completely covered in her usual jeans, turtleneck, and red leather jacket.

Killian does throw a slightly chagrined comforting smile to the side, as if to say, ‘It’s going to be fine, Swan. We’ll laugh at this later,’ and it allows her to take in a deep breath and press on.

“So…” she tries, hoping to help them move past their uneasiness and into something a bit more normal. “Are we okay here, Dad? Do you want to have some eggs and pancakes with us before we go into the station? I’ll go get dressed while Killian dishes thing up, if you want…”

David shakes his head gently, clears his throat, runs a hand over the back of his neck for a moment uncertainly, hesitating to cause offense, but not wishing to stay in this uncomfortable moment, lingering and extending it any longer than necessary. “Ah, I ate before I left home. Snow had to be at the school early and left a ham and cheese casserole she’d made for me. Maybe I’ll just let you guys get back to your meal, and I’ll see you later?”

Emma nods, relieved that her dad isn’t going to drag this out and is trying to carry on normally, as though nothing has changed. “Sounds good,” she offers simply, braving a tiny smile at him for his effort. 

Just as David turns to go, however, a little of Killian Jones’ insouciant nature seems to return to the pirate. Stepping fully into the room and right up to Emma, playfully slinging an arm around Emma’s shoulders and smacking a purposefully sloppy kiss to her cheek, he then waggles his eyebrows cheekily at his friend and offers, “Good to see you, Dave. Come again any time.”

David glares at him, really taking the pirate True Love of his daughter under detailed consideration for the first time. A ‘harumph’ of displeasure rumbles in his chest and his crosses his arms grumpily, looking ready to dig in his heels and fire back a response. Emma can nearly read the expression on his face as if he has said out loud, ‘Really mate, since when are you Master of this Domain?’ but then David’s face blanches, his gaze focusing on a new detail.

The Prince’s eyes pan lower to take in the comfortable flannel lounge pants Killian Jones wears low on his hips. At first, the deputy finds himself wondering at the tough sailor wearing cozily checked, blue-and-red sleepwear and where Captain Hook would have even gotten such pajamas. But as he looks a bit closer he realized he’s seen those sleep pants before – they’re old castoffs of his! Realization hits that Snow must have donated them to their daughter’s pirate instead of Goodwill the last time he’d cleaned out his dresser. Before he really thinks it through, David takes a step forward, gesturing wildly before finally sputtering out, “What are you doing with my old pajama pants, Hook?!”

Killian looks down at himself, teasing grin sliding from his face and reddening blush staining his skin, nearly dark enough to match Emma’s, then slides his eyes over to meet Emma’s questioningly.

Shrugging, Emma offers sheepishly, “When Killian first returned to life, I really wanted to get him some comfortable, modern clothes, but it’s not like we really got time to go out shopping in the real world with Hyde and Gold and all that chaos happening – as usual. Mom gave me some old things for him to wear around the house that she said you didn’t wear anymore.”

“Oh yeah,” her father mumbles, now the one shuffling his feet a bit and not meeting Emma’s or Killian’s eyes. “She’s right…that’s fine.”

“Okay, then,” Emma says, clapping her hands once as if dismissing the matter and putting brightness and authority into her voice as she steps forward to usher David toward the front door while Killian moves to salvage the breakfast she had begun and then nearly let burn in her distraction. “So, I’ll see you in an hour or so?”

Dutifully, her father turns and walks ahead of her back to the entryway, clearly ready to escape the private moment he walked into. Turning at the front steps as he opens the door, he looks over his shoulder and offers his grown daughter a wistful smile – all the time he lost with her, but his love for her and his joy at seeing she is happy as well showing in that expression. “Though I wouldn’t have chosen to witness the details,” he offers, lips quirking up a bit further on one side, “I’m glad you’ve found love, Emma…that both of you have. You deserve to be happy. You deserve your True Love. I’m glad you’ve found each other.”

Impulsively, Emma throws herself forward into her father’s arms and hugs him to her tightly for several long moments. Finally pulling away, her smile back at him is a bit shaky with emotion, but the embarrassment pretty much gone as she whispers, “Thanks Dad,” with fervent gratitude.

Then he is gone, down the front walk to his pickup truck, and Emma closes the door to pad barefoot back into the kitchen where Killian is waiting. Leaning with intentional ease against the counter, one leg crossed over the other, arm braced on the countertop behind him and his maimed limb rubbing at the back of his neck, the one thing that gives his discomfiture away despite the playful wink he sends across the room at her.

“Well, Love, shall I be facing your father in a duel at high noon?” he asks, his bashful concern showing through the playful bravado in his blue eyes as he gazes up at her from under those handsome dark lashes. “Now that he knows for certain I have besmirched his daughter’s honor?”

She shakes her head at him in fond exasperation and moves closer on silent bare feet. “Really?’ she asks with arched brow just before slipping into his open arms, pressing her nose into his bared throat and humming in comfort at his welcome embrace.

“Yes, Swan, really,” he continues, lips murmuring into the hair at the crown of her head. “It’s one thing for him to know that we are together. I dare say he has even come to accept me as your fitting choice, but I had never quite meant to flout our connection so obviously in his face.” She can feel his bare stump running lightly up and down along her spine, whether intentional or not, making the hem of his old shirt ride up even higher on her hips and sending potent shivers running along her skin.

Catching the shortened arm in her grip, she brings it up to the generously gaping neckline of the shirt, guides it inside and along her skin with her own hand. Mouth tilting up in tempting invitation, she whispers back at him, “Don’t worry, Pirate. Remind me to tell you later about the time Henry and I interrupted him and Mom making tacos. Let’s just say he was long overdue a similar uncomfortable moment.”

“As you wish,” Killian husks, voice deep and rumbling and his rough stubble scratching along her neck where he bends his head to nuzzle along her skin. Their conversation derails after that, neither feeling capable of forming words over touching and connecting in other ways. The pancakes Emma had mixed up and never finished cooking, as well as her father’s ill-timed visit, are both forgotten while they get back to the delicious slice of normal life they have finally found a moment to savor.


	29. Into the Unknown with You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good morning all! Here’s a little alternate take on what could have happened in 6x11 as Emma looked for another way home. I wrote all but some of the last scene before the midseason premiere of 6B, and when I didn’t get it finished before then, I debated even posting this, but I decided I wanted to anyway. I’ve come to be even fonder of it since then, so I hope that someone finds a bit of enjoyment in it! Clearly I don’t own them, as I would sometimes have wildly different things happen!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more Author’s Note: The “awfully big adventure” bit is a tiny nod to J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.

“Into the Unknown with You”

 

‘No, no, no!’ Emma’s mind reeled horrifically as she stared at the spot where only moments ago the portal had been whirling, her way home to her son and her pirate wide open. She wanted to scream; it couldn’t just be gone, and yet, a second too much hesitation, and the chance was lost. She looked to Regina anxiously, her fists clenched so tightly she felt the impressions her nails cut into her palms. It was all she could do not to rail at Regina, this whole twisted world, and her own bad luck. 

‘What now?!?’ she wanted to demand, wanted to shake her former nemesis turned tentative friend, but one glimpse at the other woman’s stunned, disbelieving face staring across the shoreline at her presumed dead True Love, and Emma knew it would be a lost cause. Having stood beside a grave in grateful stupefaction at her own love’s miraculous return to life not so long ago, Emma couldn’t find the heart to remind Regina just yet that she had spent the last day preaching that none of their surroundings or those they encountered in the Wish Realm were real, and hurry her along. She too found herself blinking dazedly at this other – very convincing – version of Robin Hood for a few moments.

Even if her heart was still crying out for her home and her family, for Henry’s soft hair tickling her nose when she placed a kiss to the top of his head, and Killian’s arms enfolding her, she didn’t know where to go in this topsy-turvy version of the homeland she had never actually lived in, and so she had to wait – more impatiently by the minute – until one of these two, either queen or thief, snapped out of their spell and led the way…

As it turned out, Robin Hood was not the sort of outlaw who would truly do harm to two ladies passing through his territory. He wouldn’t have even made to steal their jewels and furs once the same trance that had overcome Regina seemed to strike him mute as well, but Regina offered him a pouch of coins that had been strapped to her waist and a ruby ring, pressing it into his calloused palm with a quirked smile and the assurance that “she insisted, she was much more partial to his cause than he knew”.

Emma wanted to snort at the ridiculous understatement those words were, and she only barely managed to hold back a roll of her eyes, which she sensed the thief saw but let slide with a conspiratorial wink.

Before she could make an argument for trying to catch up to Gold – or Rumplestiltskin here, she supposed – or ask where they were going to find another bean, it was evening, they were entering a forest in the gathering dark, and soon they had been welcomed to sit around a roaring fire with Robin’s motley crew, and even been offered the ale and venison passed around the circle as if they were part of the merry band. 

“Now,” the archer began, seated beside Regina, his boy nodding drowsily on his lap. He looked around her to meet Emma’s gaze head on. “You must be thinking that I owe you an apology. Clearly you were about to leave this place, and because of me, you missed your ride.”

She tried to shrug it off nonchalantly, not wanting to get them kicked out in the cold, or to lay blame on him for something he couldn’t have known, but instead, to her own mortification, she felt hot tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. Though her sight grew glassy, Emma refused to let them fall. “So,” she tried for flippant, even if it fell horribly flat, “does that mean you know where we could get a replacement bean and want to help us get it?”

“Actually, Princess Emma,” Robin winked, a knowing sort of mischief in his eye, “I just might.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The following morning dawned misty and cool, but fair, and Robin greeted Emma at the simmering coals of the previous night’s campfire with a welcoming grin, Regina at his side on the stump they used for a seat, looking as soft and at ease as Emma had ever seen her, her head resting on his strong shoulder seemingly still half asleep. She and Regina had talked at length the night before, and at long last Emma had accepted that Henry’s adoptive mother wasn’t returning with her yet. “I know he isn’t the same Robin, that this whole place is built on a whim, but I’m not losing him again,” she had whispered vehemently. “There has to be another way to get back…one that he could take as well…if he wanted to…” The emotion welling in Regina’s dark eyes had been raw enough that Emma finally consented to go on without further fighting to change her mind, only giving a nod in affirmation when Regina had asked, “You’ll explain to Henry? Tell him I mean to return as soon as we both can?”

“Ready, your Highness?” the sandy-haired outlaw asked, breaking into Emma’s recent memories once more and looking down at her from where he now stood at the ready. “We should make the harbor by noon, if we set out now.”

“The harbor?” Emma asked breathlessly, dazed for a moment by what this could mean. Her heartbeat kicked up in both anticipation and dread. Surely he wasn’t here too…was he?

“Yes,” Robin answered her spoken question with an amiable nod as he kissed the back of Regina’s hand in farewell and turned to head off with Emma on his heels. “I happen to know a pirate with whom I sometimes trade my less than lawfully acquired goods. He might have just the sort of thing you need to return home…”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The sound of gulls crying and wheeling overhead and the creak and groan of the wooden docks as they reached the edge of the shore town and neared the sparkling blue harbor was enough to take Emma’s breath away. Robin took a step forward to lead her down the docks, already offering to make introductions, but Emma stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

There before them, as recognizable as always, was the Jolly Roger, bobbing proudly at anchor. Though most might be intimidated by the sight, Emma drew in the first full breath she’d had since remembering herself in this strange realm – as if she had gotten her first real glimpse of home at last. He might still be the vengeful Captain Hook in this reality, but somehow she wasn’t afraid. He would never truly hurt her – and she only wanted to be at his side again without further delay.

Reassuring Robin that she could take it from there, Emma bid him goodbye. Though he looked uncertain, the archer took her at her word and left her with his best wishes. If she clutched his hand a moment longer and a bit tighter than would be normal and bid him be safe a little too fervently – well, she didn’t have to explain herself to anyone here…

At her first step onto the gangplank, a shudder of recognition ran through her, as if the vessel itself was welcoming her back aboard, shivers skittering along her spine. At first glance, the ship seemed deserted, her crew perhaps gathering supplies or unwinding at the nearest tavern, but the air around her wavered, charged suddenly, letting her know she was not alone. Emma felt even before she heard heavy footfalls on the planks or that deep, commanding voice at her back, asking who went there, that she had not gone undetected by the ship’s captain.

Turning, her eyes found him, hungrily drinking in the details; altered, but still without doubt the man she loved. The dark hair was windblown and unruly, practically begging for her fingers to delve into its soft abundance and brush the fringe back off his forehead. Though the strands might be shaggier and generously shot through with grey, it made him no less attractive to her starving eyes. In fact, she only wanted to stare at him all the more, to catalogue every difference, trace the deeper crow’s feet around his eyes and the added lines on his forehead. Those fathomless blue eyes were lined so liberally with the kohl she hadn’t seen him use for some time in their modern Storybrooke life that she almost wanted to chuckle at the effect until she registered the way the blue of his gaze also looked paler – as if washed out by too many tears shed alone and without comfort, or dulled by pain held back because he couldn’t afford to let it show.

Brandishing his moniker, and that dastardly, flirtatious mask he had long since let drop around her, to full effect, Captain Hook stepped well into her personal space. “And who might you be?” he questioned, breath warm on the shell of her ear as he leaned in, hook lifting the heavy rope of her golden braid and tucking it back over her shoulder. It was an achingly familiar gesture and he stood much too close for calm comfort, sending her pulse fluttering again, and yet no recognition lit his gaze as he studied her; the fond devotion she had come to rely on more than she could say was utterly absent, making her heart ache and crack in her chest.

“Princess Emma of Misthaven,” she answered as sturdily as she could, raising her chin and meeting his eye with as much confidence as she could muster. “I had hoped to speak to you on a delicate matter of some importance.”

“A delicate matter, is it?” he asked, his enunciation and the way his tongue caressed his words seductively had not been altered or diminished in the slightest, whatever else had changed. He stood back to his full height, fingers in his waistband, hips thrust forward and looking every bit as sinfully irresistible as he ever did, complete with that wide-open, chest-exposing red vest she had witnessed once in their trip to the past through Zelena’s portal. If she hadn’t known him so well, she might have been fooled by the bravado, but knowing his heart as only a True Love could, she saw the emptiness behind the lascivious look, the pain within the façade – the proper, honorable lieutenant he had been, hating the persona his course had forced him to adopt. Even as he ran his tongue across his lower lip, letting his eyes trace her curves from head to toe almost lewdly, she could see the regret clouding the pupils and the wistful longing – as if he could sense what might have been.

Unable to stop herself, Emma reached forward impulsively, grasping both his hook and hand tightly as she spoke, “Yes, very…but just maybe…I was meant to find you. Maybe you’re the only one who would believe me.” 

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Another hour found them below deck in his cabin, seated at the scratched, weathered wooden table which had served him in his lonely meals for ages, Emma’s hand still clinging to his hook where it rested on his thigh, but the other reaching up tentatively to trace that faded scar she knew so well beneath his eye. Hook – though more and more her Killian with every passing moment – had scooted closer to her on the roughhewn bench, blinking in awe as she saw hope returning to his face. He appeared both afraid to believe her words, but also desperate for them to be true.

“So you’re telling me that all of this around us – this whole life – is an illusion?” he asked haltingly, not daring to move his eyes from her face, as though he thought she might disappear as quickly as she had come to him.

“Well, yeah, basically,” she tried to explain. “Or more like…it’s a possibility that didn’t actually come true. There’s this v-villain in my home, in the real timeline that I come from, who made a wish that reset things, and I was sucked into it. I have a son, family and friends, a-and another version of you…who’s my True Love…there missing me. And I have to get back to them.”

“There’s another me?” he breathed, and where anyone else would have been skeptical, he looked merely stunned, wanting. “And…we’re…together?”

“Yeah, we are,” she whispered, laying a hand over his rapidly beating heart and drawing comfort from its rhythm. She already felt stronger, more certain, even with this iteration of her pirate. Her watery smile quirked up into a bit of a smirk at one corner, “And don’t worry, he’s still devilishly handsome.”

Her captain’s eyes fell to their joined hand and hook in his lap, huffing out a laugh at her words. “More so than I, I’d wager,” he murmured.

Emma hummed under her breath, reaching out to run her fingers along a grey streak in his longer hair. “I don’t know about that,” she offered. “There’s something pretty appealing about this model, grey hair and all.”

“You flatter me, Milady,” he teased, that voice still a sinful purr rumbling from his chest as he lifted her hand to press a kiss to its back. Still, emotion welled up beneath the flirtation, making his magnetic gaze all the harder for her to escape. She was blinking, nonplussed and floundering for some audible response, when he straightened and pulled her to her feet with him. “Enough lollygagging then! I’ll prepare the old girl to set sail. It’s time we got you back where you belong!”

For a moment, Emma was stunned anew. This full-on piratical version of her True Love, who didn’t really even know her and had no reason to do anything she said, had not only chosen to believe her story, but was going out of his way to help her – just as he had ever since he turned his ship around to take her to Neverland. The lump in her throat was almost too much to speak around, but Emma managed to croak out, “You really would give anything to help me, wouldn’t you?” even as she shook her head in disbelief.

“Aye,” he affirmed, looking a bit like he was marveling at that fact himself. “I am not sure I fully understand, nor can I explain it to you, but I sense that I would – that I am almost compelled – to help you in any world or time you would appear to me.”

“Thank you,” was all she could really say in response, her wondering smile nearly blinding him with its brilliance. 

“Come then,” he offered her his arm, his speech all business again, even while the pointed tips of his ear flushed, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude and praise. “Above deck, and we’ll be off. I know someone who deals in nigh impossible to procure objects.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Standing beside him at the helm just a few short hours later, wind in her hair and the salt spray on her face, it struck Emma that though she was desperate to get home, to make sure her son, her family, and her Killian were alright, she didn’t want to simply abandon this pirate captain beside her. She didn’t know what would happen to him, if he would find something to live for, something to be part of, or if she was dooming him to his quiet desperation…even if he might simply vanish into nothingness with the rest of this ill-fated wish. She didn’t know what happened next, to be completely honest. Laying a hand on his forearm, she gazed up into his face, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what becomes of you, or this realm, when I leave here and go home,” she admitted. “I’m not sure if you all just go on like it never happened, if you cease to exist, if you wander here aimless forever…I just…I don’t know…”

Covering her hand with his, he guided the ship with no more than his hook rested capably on the wheel. “Worry not, Princess,” was his confident response, fervent resolve painted over his strong, careworn features. “We shall still set things right, as they should be. Whatever comes after this – infinity or oblivion – will be an awfully big adventure.”


	30. Shell Phone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a little fix-it fic I couldn’t help but wrote post 6x15. Not only was I frustrated by Emma actually thinking Killian would up and leave, but I was really irked by Henry’s characterization as well. I was after correcting a little of that in this. Hope you’ll enjoy it too...

"Shell Phone"

By: snowbellewells 

Henry knows something isn't right – whether he can express it or not, whether anyone will listen to him and take action or not. The certainty tingles under his skin unpleasantly, like an itch he can't quite scratch, and though he tries rather convincingly to hide behind sullen, wordless teen behavior and his video game, a protest is on the tip of his tongue.

He bides his time, watching his mom pack Killian's things back into his sea chest with such clear hurt on her face, such longing, and it's all he can do to wait for the right moment when she'll be opening to listening. It's really more than he ought to have to bear. He eyes her sidelong while her focus is distracted, only pretending to ignore her troubled actions. She can't get rid of those things! She can't give up after all they've been through, after she's finally begun to open up – thanks mostly to Hook. There's no way the stubborn pirate he knows would just take off now that he's finally won them all over. Henry doesn't know what is going on in detail – and Hook is going to get an earful from him when he returns – but right now his mom needs to believe what Henry knows is true.

Before Henry can speak more than "Are you okay?" though, his mom's phone rings.

When she hangs up and asks Henry to take the sea chest to the shed, rising to go out and check on the call she's received, Henry merely nods, trying to look bored. Now isn't that right time, when she is rushed, impatient, and trying to hide how lost she really is in her other True Love's absence. He agrees vaguely and watches until she leaves, closing the front door behind her.

As soon as he hears the Bug start out front, Henry bolts up from the couch and, completely ignoring the sea chest where it sits, hurries upstairs to his bedroom for the item Hook had given him some weeks back, in case of emergency.

Opening his top dresser drawer and pawing through the array of paired – and unpaired – socks which he had used both to hide and protect the fragile token, Henry grabs the conch shell at the back of the drawer, a match to the one Killian had given Belle while she hid out on his ship. Grasping it anxiously, Henry carries it back to sit on the edge of his bed before taking a deep, tense breath and bringing the shell up to his mouth.

"Killian?" he asks hopefully, voice almost cracking with nerves and hope. "Are you there? Can you hear me?" Biting his lip, Henry tries to wait calmly, heart pounding in his temple, not sure what he will do if he's wrong. A full minute passes with no answer or sound coming from the conch, and he tries once more, a break escaping as he speaks this time, "Killian, please answer me!"

Just when he starts to give up, about to lower the shell to his lap in defeat, a tinny voice comes echoing from inside the strange vessel. "Henry?! Hello? … Is that you, Lad?" Killian's voice calls wildly.

Heaving a deep sigh of relief, Henry quickly responds, "Killian, yes, it's me. Where are you?"

As the pirate he has come to look up to – and honestly, to love as family – begins to explain what's happened, a hopeful smile breaks across Henry's face. Sure, they're separated by realms now, but he knew Killian wouldn't leave his mom. And it is clear by now that the pirate and his Savior are as sure as Henry's grandma and gramps to always find a way back to each other. Henry's eager to help and already plotting and way to launch Operation Home Port as soon as his mom returns.

"Henry?" Killian's voice breaks into his thoughts once more, earnest emotion in his accented speech. "You'll give this shell to you mother for a moment once she gets back, won't you? I must speak to her as soon as I can."

"Yeah, of course I will," Henry assures, beaming now, sensing just how frantic Killian had been to get word to them, to make sure they knew he was trying his hardest to come back, and also just what this was going to do for his mom. The problem wasn't solved, but they were on their way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, when Emma returns from Snow and Regina's false alarm attempt at female bonding, tired and emptier than before, she grits her teeth upon seeing from the entryway that Henry didn't move the chest at all. He is still sitting on the couch, seemingly engrossed in his phone, and she has to breathe deeply through her nose several times so as not to lash out at him in her pain and frustration. However, he quickly looks up on hearing her footsteps and smiles broadly at her, an excitement that makes no sense to Emma evident in every fiber of his being.

"Mom, you're back! Finally!" Henry exclaims, motioning for her to come and sit beside him.

Sighing, she moves to do so, but nearly trips and stubs her toe on the chest, irritated once more at its very presence; unfairly hating the reminder that it is here and Killian is not. "Henry," she begins in exasperation, "why didn't you-" but he interrupts, reaching out to grasp her wrist and placing something sharp with pointy ends on her open palm, folding her fingers around it.

"Because you didn't want me to," he states simply, "Not really." He shakes his head, forestalling the argument she begins to voice. "No Mom," he continues, "we didn't have the whole story…and now we do. Just listen, okay? Hold that shell up to your ear and call for him, please?"

Emma's heart somersaults even as she scoffs, knowing exactly who Henry means and shaking her head with a stubborn, almost fearful, look.

But her son won't be dissuaded, that determined expression, the same one he's had ever since he found her in her Boston apartment as a 10-year-old, is on his face now. She can tell he won't be moved. "Please just do it," he presses. "You'll understand in a second. I promise."

She's still reluctant, but Henry knows her well enough to see the hope she tries to hide behind the protective doubt in her eyes. When he gets to watch her whole face change – light up and come alive again – it's all the reward he needs. Listening to the exchange happening next to him, squeezing back when his mom grips his hand while she and Killian talk, he's just incredibly grateful he had belief enough to make the call.


	31. Sweet Tooth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this little bitty drabble is in honor Easter, and me just wanting to write it for some fluffy, happy fun. It takes place probably a couple of years in the future from the end of season six: Killian and Emma are married, they have a toddler daughter, and Henry is driving! I think that's really all you need to know in order to enjoy.

"Sweet Tooth"

by: snowbellewells

"Oh husband of mine…" Emma Swan's voice drifted into the living room from the hall with a playful lilt she'd never had much occasion to use before meeting and falling for Killian Jones. Well, she amended to herself wryly as she came up behind where he sat on their couch, hunched over furtively and clearly hiding something, at least not beyond skips she had intended to seduce before taking them down. Still, using it to toy with her pirate a bit before catching him in some form of mischief was a much more entertaining scenario.

She peered over his shoulder, eyes sparkling and a smug smile on her face, almost certain she knew what she was going to find, even as her fingers ran up his neck and scruffed through his coarse, dark hair before gipping it and pulling his head back a bit to meet her eyes where she hovered over him.

Satisfied merriment flickered across his devilishly handsome face and in Killian's brilliant blue gaze as she stared him down – almost as if he had wanted her to catch him all the time. It was in rare moments like this, precious bits of down time for the two of them together, in their home, safe and comfortable and able to simply be themselves, that Emma saw the playful, boyish side of Killian Jones emerge gleefully. He'd had to grow up so fast, just as she had, that when the little boy he had been before betrayal, slavery, pain, and deprivation, felt assured enough to peek through just a bit in play with her, with Henry, or with their daughter, it was beautiful to see. As a ship's captain in a dangerous realm, fighting beings like Rumplestiltskin or in tenuous cahoots with such devious compatriots as Cora or Pan, his buoyant, youthful nature had found little outlet for hundreds of lonely years. Now, however, it was sweeter, gentler than that, and it warmed Emma's heart.

As her eyes trailed from his, she easily spotted the bag of individually wrapped miniature candy bars which she had been hiding in the kitchen cabinet behind her cocoa mix. There were also three or four crumpled metallic gold Twix wrappers on the coffee table in front of him which Killian had not had time to hide. Not to mention the small trace of chocolate in the corner of his smile that she was already hankering to lick away in a slow, sultry kiss.

"You do know those were meant to be for the kids' Easter baskets, right?" she chided, pulling just the tiniest bit harder with the hand she had carded into his hair – all part of the teasing more than genuine irritation. Though, if he had demolished enough of her stash that she had to go back to Clark's mini-mart for more treats to take to Regina and her mother's ridiculous dressy dinner and egg hunt, then Killian was being dragged there with her to hear whatever town complaint Leroy would be standing at the counter yammering on about, to get an earful of Frederick and Kathryn debating which dog food was best for Ajax's coat and joints while they blocked the way down the aisle, to listen to Marco discussing the merits of hand tools versus power, Archie and Belle comparing notes on which herbal teas were best for calm and relaxation, to be sidetracked by Ashley wanting to get them on the PTA phone tree, or whomever else most felt the need to bend an objective listener's ear and so always managed to get her wrapped up in their conversations. It was why she could never return from what should be fifteen minute errands in much under an hour, and why she tried to stock up on all she could think of when she went. Yep, if her pirate had pilfered all the chocolate she bought ahead to avoid the holiday crowd, then he was getting a taste of the chore that shopping was for her.

Raising an eyebrow at her insouciantly, as if he had read her thoughts and had very much raided her collection merely to get a rise out of her, Killian hissed through his teeth just slightly at the increased pressure on his scalp and shifted restlessly on the couch, clearly feeling the tension and heat in the room creep upward just as inexorably as she did. Running his wicked tongue across his lower lip in an obscene gesture that both infuriated her and made her want to suck it into her own mouth, he brought his hand up to uncurl her fingers from his dark hair and pulled it down toward himself, making her lean further over the couch as he murmured, "Oh yes? Well, if that's the case, come and take them back from me."

Emma's breath stalled in her throat at his words; the look in his eyes as he gazed back at her upside down and waggling his eyebrows ridiculously should not be as devastating as he made it, but he unfairly turned the teasing around on her all too smoothly. By the time he had brought the hand he'd captured to his lips, tracing his warm, wet tongue across her palm and up her wrist to nip lightly at her suddenly racing pulse, she was on fire beneath her skin and ready to crawl over the back of the couch to get to him.

Humming lowly to himself, Killian continued his slow, deliberate path with lips, teeth and tongue up to her elbow, and Emma could only watched, entranced, panting and flushed. How had she lost control of this whole situation so quickly? She only wondered briefly to herself before silently admitting that she didn't really care if she had – only with Killian could she truly relish the relief of not having to take the lead and handle everything all the time. She was just moving around the end of the couch to take back the upper hand, and perhaps give Killian a taste of something well beyond pilfered chocolate, when Henry came thundering down the stairs into the room.

"Guys, come on!" he groaned, immediately flushing as red as Emma was and turning away slightly. "You're in the middle of our living room!" He hadn't really seen anything scarring – yet – but the way both of them had sprung backwards and given him matching deer-in-the-headlight looks made where things had been headed crystal clear. It wasn't the first – nor would it be the last – time he'd walked into a heated moment about to turn into a raging inferno.

Shaking his head at them in good natured exasperation while Killian chuckled lowly with a shrug and his mom offered a sheepish "Sorry, Kid", Henry plowed on, holding up a somewhat crushed-looking, pink beribboned Easter basket. "I found Morgan's basket grandma made her last year," he announced wryly. "Don't ask why it's buried in the bottom of my closet, but here it is. I knew you were looking for it. She might actually be old enough to put something in it this year."

Both his mom and stepdad smirked with him then, remembering the vision of his year old sister contentedly trying to stuff a handful of grass into her mouth the year before.

With an added explanation that he was off to pick up Violet, and twirling his own newly acquired set of keys to David's old pickup – now his – in his hand, Henry was off with a teenaged warning to keep it PG, he thought he'd heard his little sister stirring from her nap on his way downstairs. "See you at 5!" he called at last, and then was out the door.

Emma sent Killian a devious little smile full of promise as they did indeed begin to hear the sounds of their young princess waking up and moving around in her room overhead. Morgan Ruth Jones was not afraid to make her presence and wakefulness known, and as if on cue, she began to call out for "Mama!" and "Papa!"

Still grinning as she jogged up the stairs to fetch their little girl and get her ready for the party, warning Killian that the rest of the chocolate needed to go in the plastic eggs not his mouth, and quickly, Emma contented herself with the anxiously happy thought that she still had a treat awaiting her when they got back home.


	32. Helping Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one shot really doesn't go right along in canon, though until midway through episode 6x17 it still "could" have happened. I'm not saying I wanted it to instead of what we got, just that it didn't really go canon divergent until then. It's mainly born of a prompt I saw floating around Tumblr some time ago, about a character being badly injured and two others trying to help, one being so affected by the first character's pain that they had to let the other take over and help get the job done. I had filed it away thinking that I wanted to use it, and even knowing which three characters to use it for, but it wasn't until Killian ran afoul of the Lost Boys on his unplanned trip to Neverland that the way to make it happen finally presented itself. Hope you enjoy! I still don't own them, nor do I own the initial idea germ that got me started. If it's yours, I'm sorry I don't remember to credit you. )

"Helping Hands"

By: snowbellewells

 

The portal dumped them out on the beach, tumbling knees over elbows in a heap on the wet, misty stretch of rocky sand, interrupted only by larger rocks and hunks of twisted driftwood until it faded into the edge of the wild forest they remembered. David immediately reached to help his daughter up; even though Emma was already gathering her feet under herself, his chivalrous nature couldn't be ignored.

Snow would be spitting mad if she were aware that they had come back to Neverland and unknown danger without her, but what she didn't know in her cursed sleep wouldn't hurt him he figured. There would be time enough to deal with that when they returned to Storybrooke – what with the Black Fairy there, and by now probably on an angry rampage with her rebelling "son" joining his real father and mother in fighting her, not to mention Regina antagonizing her and thwarting her as well at every available opportunity. With luck, maybe things would be too chaotic for Snow to even realize the risk they had taken. However, the fact that all of their sometimes friends and enemies had joined forces against this new threat and were doing a solid job of holding the twisted evil being off and distracting her had made this hopefully quick retrieval mission possible. Though Emma had been angry, off-kilter, and lost ever since Hook's disappearance and certainly not at full fighting strength, they couldn't have left town completely if the newest menace to its inhabitants had not been sufficiently occupied and at least momentarily contained.

It had taken quite a bit of figuring and sleuthing to even discover where they needed to go to find Killian. Gideon could have told them, but even with Gold and Belle swearing that he wasn't purely evil, they could get through to him, Emma wasn't trusting that overgrown brat again anytime soon. Nearly being the nest lining of some giant Shelob wannabe was lesson enough, and she would not be making that mistake twice. Still, between Ariel surfacing offshore looking exhausted and bedraggled and explaining how she'd been with Killian in Agrabah and tried to get word to them sooner but something had blocked her, and Blackbeard riding into the harbor on a portal that nearly overturned Leroy's little fishing trawler and gave he, Happy, and Dopey quite a scare, and marching right down the docks to Emma claiming that the Jolly was now his thanks to how "besotted that pup was with her" and a handily loaded deck of cards, they got the idea of where her pirate was stranded and just how urgently they had better reach him.

By the time they had bartered with Blackbeard for another bean and listened to him crow about how they were doing it all for nothing, those feral, savage youths had probably gotten Hook by now, Emma was actually pacing the station and vibrating with anxiety. Their way in hand, David brooked no argument about accompanying her. Regina assured them she would keep an eye on Henry and baby Neal, and continue trying to break the curse on Snow's heart in the meantime. She was just giving a warning reminder for them to watch themselves and try not to completely rewrite history, when Emma threw the bean down, unable to wait a second longer, and the swirling vortex cut the other woman off. Instead, Regina simply gave a small smile as Emma and David plunged in.

Now, however, staring across the vacant strand and crashing waves, the desolate, silent wildness of the place where they'd landed gave Emma pause. Something foreboding lingered in the air of this place, even though Pan was gone and it was no longer perpetual night. The very breath of the island seemed to warn them away, and she shivered thinking of Killian here alone all these days, even as she shot David a quick, determined look and they started for the tree line. Captain Hook might have lived here for centuries, but things were different now. He was different.

They set out doggedly, resolved to find their pirate and bring him home, whether they knew where to start and what awaited them or not. Pushing into the dense vegetation and dark forest, as the beach seemed completely deserted, Emma couldn't help noting once more how eerily silent it remained, even in the cover of trees and the shield of dim light; there weren't even the natural sounds of scuttling small animal feet, birds calling overhead, or insects buzzing in the muggy heat that still permeated the island, just as she remembered. Not only was it unnatural and unnerving, but it made she and David's movement through the brush seem incredibly loud, and she worried they could be heard coming for miles.

Perhaps it was the rough, overgrown quality of the largely uninhabited land, the odd half-darkness constantly hanging over it, or a reflection of the unruliness in the hearts of those who did roam its shores and caves, but despite the month that their little rescue party had spent traipsing across Neverland previously, nothing now appeared familiar to Emma's eyes. So it was that as David pulled ahead to hack through a particularly stubborn and thick vine hanging completely across their path, that when Emma charged forward once it fell, she found herself nearly walking right off a steeply plunging ledge that had been almost completely hidden until too late by overlarge palm fronds, the murky dim light, and the shrubbery dense upon the forest floor. She pitched forward, frighteningly, pin wheeling her arms to stay upright and move backward, but if David had not been there beside her to grab her arm and quickly steady her equilibrium, she would have careened violently down the slope to a debilitating landing.

Once righted, Emma sucked in a tight, nervous breath, rolled her shoulders, and shot her father a small, sideways quirk of a sheepishly relieved smile along with her thanks. Leaning over just slightly, in control now and some morbid curiosity needing to see the bottom and just how far she might have fallen, Emma gazed down, squinting in the dusk and humid fog. When she did, though, the bright metallic gleam of something below caught her eye and held it fast.

"David, do you see…?" she started hesitantly, hoping she was wrong, not wanting to find him like this, but then the stringy mist cleared for a beat and she could see clearly. Suddenly, she knew, and a horrified gasp escaped her. "He's down there!" she cried out, clutching her father's arm. "We have to get to him!"

David peered over himself, and amidst the leaves and branches on the way and the grey haze, he glimpsed a darker black of slicked leather and the glint of silver metal in the patchy shafts of light through the trees. His friend and his daughter's True Love could very well be lying down there, broken, his hook all they could recognize of him. He wasn't far behind Emma at all when she began to clamber down the slope, practically on her rear, with feet braced to slow her descent and hand scrabbling behind her all the way – in such panicked hurry to reach her love that she barely registered any cut or scrapes picked up as she went.

They reached the lower ground with a lurch and bump, and Hook's crumpled form only feet in front of them was now clearly distinguishable, stalling Emma's heartbeat cold in her chest. What had happened? He was so still – not an inch of that fight and bravado and warmth apparent – and they simply couldn't reach him fast enough for her.

Skidding to a halt at his side at last, Emma fell next to him impatiently, swiping her matted hair from her face to see better and ignoring the stinging of scratches across her palms and up her forearms from her mad scramble down rough terrain. There was no time to think of what she'd done to herself when Killian lay before her battered and torn.

She felt more than actually saw her father crouch at Killian's other side, both of them taking stock of the pirate's condition, and realizing how dire it appeared. There was a gash at his temple, sliced diagonally down and just missing his left eye. Blood was dried and caked below it on that side of his face and neck, and there was definite purple bruising around the eye as well. His button-down shirt was torn and scorched in places and hung completely open to reveal numerous welts seemingly burned into his flesh. Various slices, cuts and bruises littered the exposed skin of his arms and torso that were visible, but the most frightening sight of all was the deep gash of a stab wound in his gut on the right side, as if someone had purposefully gone in under his ribs and attempted to slash him open.

As Emma stared at the wound and the dirt, small rocks and debris she could see were embedded in it from what had clearly been a violent fall down the same slope they'd just scaled – probably a shove to what was meant as a painful, languishing death – tears welled in her eyes. He still didn't answer, even as she bent to pleadingly whisper his name at his ear, hoping to call him back to her. Her pirate had been beaten, tortured, broken, and then tossed like discarded trash to lie alone and forgotten as he slipped into unconsciousness. It hurt like a knife in her own chest to imagine the pain and then the despair he must have felt as he faded away.

She did gain at least an ounce of relief when she felt a shallow but present and warm breath escape Killian's lips to brush across her cheek as she leaned in close. An incoherent but audible moan was loosed as well when David jostled his mate slightly trying to get a better look at the wound to his side.

The prince's eyes lifted to meet his daughter's over Hook's prone form, the expression in them apologetic but certain. "We have to get that cleaned out before it gets infected…if it hasn't already," he stated tightly. "We need to stop the bleeding and bind it up."

Emma nodded, biting her lip and already struggling with the cold pit of dread in her stomach at the added pain they were going to cause him. She was able to attempt small healing spells with her magic, and she was pretty sure she could close up that injury as well, but she worried about what might be left inside him and how long he had been like this, what infection and aftereffects might already have set in. This extent of damage needed stronger magic than she was sure she could weld right now, especially over someone she cared for so much and under the pull of this kind of emotion.

Her dad surprised her then by reaching out to take her hand and snapping her back to the present, to the task immediately before them. "Emma," he prompted, face taut, eyes serious, "can you do this or not?"

She gave a curt nod, steeling herself and blowing out a tense breath. She could. She had to. It pained her to even consider how much Killian was already hurting if he was aware enough to feel anything at all, but considering that she would be making it worse in her attempt to help him took another moment or two. That done, she squared her shoulders, met David's eyes across Killian's body, and reached for the gaping hole in his side.

She had to brush some dirt and mud away to even have a clear view, but just that light contact near the gapping skin brought a low, distressed whimper from Killian's slack lips and some fretful movement. It was almost as though his unconscious body was pitiably trying to shield itself from further blows. Emma blinked back the film of unshed tears gathering in her vision and soldiered on. Finding his flask still stowed at his hip, and knowing all too well from his own example long ago on their first adventure together that rum could be used to clean and disinfect, she braced herself, unscrewed the stopper, and upended it over the wound site.

With a howl of agony, Killian's body shot half-upright before slumping back to the ground, gasping is white hot agony. His breathing turned to harsh, loud pants, and Emma could see his jaw clench and unclench tightly along with the muscles in his forearms and his bared abdomen. His eyes flickered open for the briefest of moments, so blue against his smudged, dirt-caked face, and they looked both awed, as if he thought he was dreaming her, and also confusedly betrayed, as if not sure why she would join in his torment. "Swan?" he breathed, so softly as to almost be unheard.

"I'm so sorry, Killian," she whispered back, pausing just a moment to brush his disheveled hair off his forehead, hoping to offer a tiny bit of comfort. When he winced at even that, her finger grazing some unseen cut or bruise, her heart broke yet again into even smaller pieces.

He panted once more, his chest rising and falling erratically as his hand fumbled to clutch at her fingers for a moment when they fell away from his face. "Those ruddy Lost Boys – don't let them find you here," he forced out breathlessly, pressing her fingers almost painfully tight in emphasis. "You shouldn't have come back to this – this bloody rock – for me!"

"Of course, I should!" she bit back fiercely, tears falling now through her dismay. "I can't lose you, remember?" Pulling her fingers from his grip, newly determined to get him patched up and home to a real doctor or more experienced magic user as soon as possible, Emma forced herself once more to delve her fingers into the open wound, probing for any last detritus that must come out before they closed it. Her fingers found a rather large twig of some sort and began to pull it out when something inside him caught it on its way. Kilian's whole body jerked as if touched by a live wire and a strangled scream escaped her pirate unwillingly, ringing between the empty cliff wall and surrounding trees. His eyes caught hers, pleading for mercy, and then he went slack, losing consciousness once more.

"Killian!" she cried out, momentarily panicked, even if the whole process would be easier with him out cold. "Killian, I'm sorry! Wake up! …Killian!"

But there was no response as she leaned over him anxiously, shaking his chest and her voice trembling with desperate fear.

Gently, her father, whose presence she had almost forgotten, took her hands in his, disregarding the blood and dirt coating them or the way they shivered in his hold. "It's okay, Emma," he said calmly. Hating to see his friend hurt and his daughter so distraught, but also seeing that he had to hold them together and keep some semblance of calm in the final hurdle, David assured, "We're almost done, and then we'll get him home," without an ounce of fear or doubt.

Instructing Emma to brace her pirate's shoulders in case he woke or startled again, David took over the retrieval, getting the last charred remnant removed from Killian's side. These wild youths were heathen terrors as far as he was concerned. However Killian had been hurt, they had obviously put him through something savage; some torture he had barely weathered long enough for them to find him, and to which a weaker person would already have succumbed.

At last he looked up at Emma, who seemed to read his intention and handed him the flask so he could pour the very last of the rum over the gash once more. Killian stirred only fretfully now, murmuring something feverishly that sounded a bit like, "Emma, why?" and catching at both their hearts. His skin felt troublingly hot, and David knew fever setting in was never a good sign.

Packing a handkerchief he pulled from his back pocket against the worst of the opening, he watched as Emma fished a black scarf she seemed to know would be on Killian's person from inside the other man's modern jacket and gave him a wobbly, wet grin. With an exasperated, knowing shake of the head and fondness in her eyes upon laying hands on the accessory, David became certain of some story he wasn't privy to – and it reminded him strongly of he and Snow. Wordlessly, he helped his daughter lift her True Love slightly so that she could the material around Killian's torso, binding the whole first aid attempt as best they could for the journey.

"Thanks, Dad," she offered solemnly when they had finished, the look on her face clearly wanting to offer more. He could see how her delicate throat worked swallowing, and he only nodded in understanding and pulled her close in a quick hug. Getting to their feet, they propped Killian's unconscious body between them, making sure they had a tight hold to keep the three of them together in transit. Emma dropped the other bean they had wrangled from Blackbeard for the journey home onto the ground before them, and as the portal swirled, they dove in. On their way home with their pirate, to safety.


	33. Father Figure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of missing moment leading up to the CS wedding - some Captain Cobra feels I simply couldn't resist!~

“Father Figure”  
By: snowbellewells (TutorGirlml on ff.net)

The morning of the wedding had begun in a troubling wet, dreary grey of rain drizzle, but by mid-afternoon the clouds had slowly parted and sunlight was peeking through their wispy, tattered remnants with gaining strength. Killian Jones had stood for some time, uncaring if he got a bit wet, staring over the water from the side of the Jolly, hoping deep in his heart of hearts that they would not have to change the venue for their nuptials. He would of course rather that than see the occasion dampened or have to postpone it even a day longer, but he had truly hoped to pledge his troth to his True Love while standing on the sturdy boards of his previous truest love; the old girl who had been his home and companion for centuries.

Once the day began to dry, Killian had gone below to his cabin and started getting dressed. The dark suit with its soft, well-made material felt transformative against his skin, whispering as it brushed across his flesh that today was infinitely special. Today began the rest of his life – the happiest and best part. And in a town where magic was all around at most given moments, that this day would still have a magic all its own was truly saying something. Emma Swan – the Princess of Misthaven, the Savior – loved him, and today she would promise to spend the rest of her life with him, as he would her. As he shrugged into the waistcoat over the button up dress shirt, and deftly did its fastenings one-handed as well, Killian caught a glimpse of himself looking conspicuously misty-eyed in the reflection of the looking glass in the corner. It was true that is some ways, ever since Neverland – no, perhaps even since Lake Nostos and the beanstalk – he had been pledging himself to Emma every day; still, the culmination of his deepest wish seemed more than he could possibly deserve.

He was interrupted then from his preparations and reverie by a quiet knock on the cabin door. Just as well, Killian thought wryly, eying the bow tie laid out with the suit jacket on his bunk. There had been little chance he would be able to secure said article – he’d never even worn one before – without someone’s help, and now such aid was presenting itself.

His heart warmed, smile deepening when the voice that called his name proved to be Henry, asking if he could come in. “Aye,” Killian answered Swan’s boy affectionately, waving him forward when the teen’s face appeared around the edge of the sturdy wood. “Come in. I’m always glad to have you aboard, Lad, you know that.”

Henry nodded, but cleared his throat nervously and looked more than a bit uneasy as he shuffled his feet forward into the room.

Killian was momentarily concerned at the young man’s bearing – surely if something were wrong, if something had happened to Emma, he would know; he would feel it. There had been nothing from their fae nemesis this day, and he had hoped to have this one occasion without fight or interruption, but he wouldn’t put it past the malicious Stiltskin matriarch to make her presence known even now. He was halfway across his cabin to the bracket under the window where he had carefully stowed his sword, ready to take it up again in service of his Swan, when Henry finally spoke.

As he did, and as Killian turned to listen to the young man about to officially become his stepson, Killian noticed for the first time that the Author also carried a book in his hand. It was not his usual storybook, the huge brown leather bound one bearing all their past tales in the Enchanted Forest, but a smaller black one the pirate had never seen before.

“Killian,” Henry started again, voice still soft and somewhat hesitant as he moved closer, finally coming to stand face-to-face with the man who had become supporter, confidante and sometime partner-in-crime to him – in some ways, the most constant father figure he’d known. He held his hand out, with the handsome new book in it, offering it to Killian. “In this realm, they sometimes give the guy getting married something. It’s called a groom’s gift. So… anyway… I just wanted to give you this,” he offered, meeting Killian’s eyes fleetingly and then dropping his gaze again with a sheepish flush to his cheeks. “It’s not much really… but I… I wanted you to have it. It’s our story.”

The pirate’s eyes shot up to Henry’s then, awed emotion flowing through him and having to see into the face of this extraordinary young man he loved as his very own to make sure he was really hearing what he thought. “Truly?” he finally choked out, arching an eyebrow despite himself, his voice low and rougher than normal, but struck deeply by the gesture that Henry was making.

Henry chuckled a bit then, as if Killian’s sincere gratitude and affection made him more at ease with the gift he had given. “Aye,” the youth mocked Hook now in his answer, and they both seemed unable to stop the silly grins spreading across their faces.

“Well then, thank you, m’boy,” Killian spoke solemnly, clasping Henry’s shoulder warmly and merely drinking in the moment, stunned that his long, tangled lifeline had brought him here with this young man, a chance at a family he would have never imagined coming to him again.

Killian took the gift, holding it in his hand and running his thumb over the smooth cover reverently. Curious, he almost flipped it open to see what Henry had put down, but as if reading his mind, the lad stepped forward, shaking his head. Cheeks flushed again, Henry’s grasp on Killian’s forearm stilled his motion to open and begin reading. “No! Don’t read it now while I’m standing here!” the teen exclaimed in humored exasperation.

Smirking only slightly, Killian conceded, “As you wish,” with an affectionate nod of deference to Henry’s wishes. Sitting the book on his bunk for the moment, he turned back to the lad seriously before pressing on. “I shall wait until later to peruse your fine gift. But… if I may – perchance you might do one more thing for me?” Reddening a bit himself, Killian gestured to the undone bow tie where he had discarded it atop the desk by his mirror, his awkward all-done-up collar, and gave his stepson a lopsided smile. “If you could be so kind?”

Shaking his head, Henry nodded and stepped forward, releasing a good natured snort of laughter at Killian’s expense, but lightly reaching out and putting the ensemble together as best he knew how, much like his Grandpa David had shown him to do his own.

When he had finished, the teen gave his soon-to-be stepdad a once over, smiling once more at the man he had come to look up to, who loved his mom and made her smile, who had taught him sailor’s knots and navigation by the stars, and how to manage his algebra homework. This man had always had his back. Even when Henry himself had been too stubborn to see, Killian had wanted the best for him, as any father would. Though he would always miss his birth father and wish they had gotten more time together, Henry was struck suddenly by how his father figure had been there all along; he had never been truly without. Dropping his hands from the slightly crooked but still fastened bow tie, Henry lunged forward to hug Captain Hook – their pirate – tightly in a swell of gratitude and love.

Killian was stunned still for several beats of time, blinking rapidly at the tears which welled up at Henry’s tight embrace and obvious acceptance, but he quickly recovered and hugged Swan’s boy back just as firmly, clasping him close for several long moments. When they parted, there were conspicuous snuffles and bashful half smiles on both their parts, but also a new understanding of just how gladly and irrevocably they were family now.

A text buzzed through for Henry then, and he pulled out his talking phone as Killian watched. “Grandma needs me for some decoration issue,” Henry said. “So, are we all set, Captain?”

“Aye,” Killian affirmed with a wide grin and quick nod. “I’ll see you again shortly…at the altar.”

 

After Henry had dashed off, Killian moved to his bunk once more, fully ready for the ceremony that was only a little over an hour away. Before he headed above deck though, he was anxious to look at the gift his stepson had brought him.  
Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, Killian picked up the book, opened to the first page, and began to read:

“Once there was a little boy with an old soul and a heavy heart. Though he believed in heroes and good and fairy tales, he didn’t know if anyone really loved him or where he truly belonged.  
There was also, once upon a time, a man who had lived for centuries, but had lost his boyhood much too soon. He was alone in the world with nothing and no one to live for.  
In truth, the two should never have met. But meet they did, and the story of how it came to be, brought love and joy back into both of their lives…”

Killian kept reading, through a sheen of happy tears, all the way to the end; the warmth in his heart spreading throughout his whole body until he felt it might escape in beams of light from his fingers and toes. He could hardly wait to thank Henry for this precious gift, and though words would not fully express it, attempt to tell the lad how much it meant to him. 

Neither of them had lived through very happy starts, but they were now embarking on their happy ending at last…


	34. Beginning Now, It's Ours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Note: So, this story was originally a request answer for @whimsicallyenchantedrose for my 200 Follower celebration on Tumblr. She chose the prompt of: “Emma goes into early labor aboard the Jolly Roger while they are sailing one day; set in the future, post-wedding and happy beginning, but everyone has returned to the Enchanted Forest to live.” I hope this is one others will enjoy as well. Set in the not-so-distant future from where the show left off; though it certainly takes a different path than canon Season 7. In other words, Enchanted Forest-set, canon divergent.

“Beginning Now, It’s Ours”

 

“There’s no storm we can’t outrun,  
We will always find the sun;  
Leave the past and all its scars,  
A happy beginning now is ours…”

Gently rolling waves lap softly against the hull of their ship, rocking back and forth on the open water that stretches unbroken as far as her eyes can see, soothing an eight-and-a-half months pregnant Emma Swan-Jones where she stands on the Jolly Roger’s deck, leaning against the ancient wooden sides. She runs her hands along the smooth grain, lovingly reflecting that she has come to see the old girl as a home, just as the vessel had served for her husband all those countless years he had spent adrift and alone, when she feels Killian’s solid presence behind her. The warmth that always radiates comfortingly from her pirate presses to her back as he stands behind her, wrapping his arms as far as he can around her rounded stomach, hand and hook resting protectively over their little one and nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck and shoulder. “Alright there, Love?” he murmurs, wordlessly urging her to lean back on him, even as he nips at her skin, causing shivers to skitter down her spine.

Breath hitching, Emma nods, suddenly not trusting her voice to remain steady. They have been married almost three years now, and she might feel bloated and unattractive at mere weeks from her due date, but neither time nor condition has ever lessened the powerful effect a single touch or one whisper of her husband’s voice has on her. Killian Jones may be gaining crow’s feet around his eyes when he gives her his incorrigible grin, and there may be the fewest strands of silver-grey mixed in with the dark hair at his temples, but he is still a menace to her composure in both looks and ceaseless charm. She has never become any more able to resist the desire to “pillage and plunder” than she was from the very beginning.

Her pirate gazes down at her, smirking as if he knows, but merely dips his head slightly to place a kiss to her brow. “Glad to hear it, Swan,” he murmurs low, pressing her the smallest bit closer yet in his embrace. “However, I believe I shall have Henry turn her to port now. We should have our return course set before the light fades. Enjoy the sunset. We shouldn’t go too far out again until after our babe joins us.”

Emma gives him a small nod of reluctant acquiescence, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his worrying over her and his protective concern for their little one’s health and safety. At various times earlier in her pregnancy, both her mom and her dad had pulled Emma aside to urge a bit more patience and understanding with her anxious husband. In their world, the realm and time Killian was from as well her parents had reminded gently, bearing children carried much more risk and could cause several more lingering effects than it did in Emma’s modern experience. She has tried since then to bear with her pirate and his fussing as best she can, knowing that just as she can’t bear to live without him now, he cannot stand the thought of losing her either.

He moves away with a gentle squeeze of affection to her hand, vowing in a purr against her skin to return shortly, then sauntering over the enchanted wooden deck, calling out to Henry jovially and asking if his first mate needs help bringing her round. Emma turns partially to watch the two men in her life – her True Loves – whom she adores more than anything and anyone else in all the world. It makes her heart trip almost giddily to see the proud paternal smile Killian gives Henry when his stepson grins proud and pleased while showing that he has them turned about and right on course back to the castle harbor.

There had been a few bumps in the road – Killian throwing away Pop Tarts to push mackerel for breakfast, and angry accusations on Henry’s part of trying to take his dad’s place when Killian had put a foot down the first time Henry missed curfew on a date with Violet, came to mind with still-vivid clarity – but watching the two of them together now, a person would never know they hadn’t always been family. Their rapport is easy, genuine liking and respect for each other clear in their conversation and their jests. That the man she finally gave her broken heart over to for mending loved her son so fully and completely – as if Henry were his own – as well, was more than Emma had dared hope for once upon a time.

Since their wedding and the Final Battle against the Black Fairy, not to mention yet one more life-threatening and nearly final separation, there had been a fair number of the denizens of Storybrooke who vehemently desired to return to their home realm if there were any way at all to make it possible. It seemed safer than staying in a place clearly targeted for mayhem and catastrophe; plus, it was where most of them really belonged. Her parents had led the charge in fact, once they were certain that Emma, Killian, and Henry would go as well, and that Emma was genuinely alright with the decision. Henry had been thrilled beyond belief and anxiously impatient to set out for a world where he could be a true knight of his grandparents’ kingdom and have all the adventures and heroics that role would entail. With Regina working to help instead of thwart them, and a bit of advice and labor from Anton and the dwarves, it was the matter of merely a couple months’ growth time to have enough beans for those who wished to return to the Enchanted Forest, restore Snow White’s benevolent reign as it should always have been, and to rebuild the land they would make their permanent home.

Emma tilts her head, savoring the warm, blissful feeling in her chest as she watches Killian lean in to speak just a few brief words of suggestion or encouragement to Henry before clapping him on the shoulder and nodding affirmation to whatever she can see Henry saying in response. Henry’s laughter rings out on the sea air brightly, one hand leaving the ship’s wheel to swat at Killian playfully before her pirate swings away and comes back to her, the oranges and golds of the sky behind him lighting his figure as if he is surrounded by a hazy halo.

Feeling her mouth begin to water with desire for her gorgeous husband, his attractiveness only accentuated by the sunset’s glow, Emma turns back to the ship’s side, leaning for support gently as she rubs her hand over her stretched and unwieldy belly. The rumbling unease she feels just now is another side effect, like the sudden bouts of overwhelming need for her husband and all he can do with that sinfully delicious body, that she wants to blame on the wealth of hormones coursing through her as she comes to the end of her pregnancy. Still, her brow furrows against her will as she gazes out at the reddish ball of the fiery sun seeming to settle right on the water at the horizon line before them, unable to ignore the sharp, painful pinch of sudden discomfort in her abdomen, even as she tries to hide it. Blowing out a puff of air in the hope of breathing deeply to steady herself, Emma leaves her hand on her stomach, rubbing her palm back and forth along its curve, forcing herself to focus elsewhere and stay calm.

Though Killian would never have said a word, thinking she had no desire to give up the comforts and conveniences of the modern world she had always known, Emma knew her husband had wanted to see his own realm again. Her brave, resourceful pirate adapted himself so determinedly and well to any surroundings – even the strange and mystifying 21st century with all its gadgets and technology – that she could almost forget what an adjustment her world must have been for him… how much he had willingly given up to remain by her side. Yet as they had settled in her parents’ castle, taking their own wing of apartments but still close to their large, extended family and friends, Killian’s glee at showing her the ropes in his homeland had been evident, his sheer joy at for once not being off-kilter and out of the loop with customs, routines, and endless modern technologies. He never made her feel stupid or ridiculous, even when he might tease her, but was always right at her side, eager to show, to teach, and to introduce her to this simpler time and place natural to him, whether it was how to cinch her dresses with sewn-in corsets or make coffee in a world without Granny’s, Starbucks or Keurig machines – and for her to see the life she would always have had if things had gone as they should – anxious to help her feel at home and come to love the place as much as he clearly did.

Thoughts of their current place and time bring her focus circling back to the trepidation her beloved pirate had suffered and dealt with when they first learned they were expecting. Not that Emma hadn’t harbored her own issues, but once she managed to tell Killian and he had been awestruck and thanking her with kisses rained all over her face before falling to his knees to press his lips to her still-flat stomach repeatedly as well, her biggest worry had been allayed. This would not be like last time – alone, sick with guilt and regret, knowing that in the end the precious life she carried couldn’t stay with her, and that she would have to give it up. Killian, after the initial shocked euphoria, had grown fearful over the many things which could still go wrong, the mere chance that he could lose her, the baby, or both of them. For the last month or so, it had nearly paralyzed him and stolen all of his happiness and anticipation for the event. Several long scouting expeditions with David, which she and her mother felt were more “bro bonding” exercises and an excuse for some in-depth reassuring talks, had finally brought Killian’s confidence in their strength and preparation and his anxious joy to meet the child borne of their love back to the forefront.

Now, however, as she can’t help bending forward a bit, curling herself around the source of pain and biting back a low moan. Emma has a fleeting moment of panic that perhaps Killian’s fears are not so far off base. And then, just as though he has read her mind, the way she often believes he can, Killian is there at her side, hand and hook at her waist bracingly to still her wild thoughts.

“What is it, Love?” he asks apprehensively. “Are you alright?”

Emma can only shake her head in the negative, doing all she can now not to scream in pain and alarm her teenage son along with her husband. She clutches at Killian’s hand on her waist with shaking fingers, wrapping his hook in her grip as well and leaning into his support it all it’s worth. By the time she raises her head for her teary, unfocused green eyes to meet his concerned blue, she feels the unmistakable gush of liquid breaking free and streaming to the planks of the Jolly at their feet. She can’t deny, even to herself, what is going on, a few weeks ahead of schedule though it may be.  
Killian’s mouth opens in shock, clearly floundering momentarily for words as he looks from her face to their feet and back again before asking rather needlessly, “Emma lass, are you…?”

She bobs her head rapidly in affirmation, feeling her knees give a bit and leaning into the frame of his body yet more heavily. She tries to force a smile to her lips, even as she feels silent tears breaking free to trek down her cheeks. “I think –” she breaks off on a gasp, then forces herself to continue speaking breathily with a self-deprecating chuckle at the end, “you may have been a bit late with the warning about going out on the water, Captain. Pretty sure there won’t be any time for worrying about that.”

Breaking into a pleased grin at the imminent arrival of their long-awaited offspring, Killian’s eyes light up with happy expectation, even though they stay fixed caringly on hers. “My apologies,” he murmurs lowly against her neck, offering a bit of a mocking bow clearly meant to help her keep the lighthearted mindset as long as she can. “In future, Milady, I shall endeavor to be more prepared.”

Calling to Henry over his shoulder without even glancing back to the helm, he asks evenly, with impressive show of calm, “How long before we dock, Lad?”

When Henry’s response is half an hour to forty-five minutes, Emma grits her teeth, knowing this will probably still be going on, but that she will not be up to trekking from the ship to the castle by then. Thinking about the nursery all outfitted, sterilized and prepared for their baby’s delivery, and both Doc and Victor on standby to oversee the proceedings, and yet still out of reach of all of it, is maddening and only serves to cause her tears to fall with greater regularity.

“Right then,” Killian states, his voice clipped with the tension that always comes when he is forced to see her upset or in pain. He moves swiftly before she can protest to wrap his hook arm around her shoulders and his other arm beneath her knees, sweeping her off her feet into his arms, and already moving toward the hatch that leads below to the Captain’s quarters. “Steady on your course, Mate,” he calls to Henry. “Your mum needs to lie down, and I am taking her to do so.”

Emma gapes at him now, nonplussed until she has to bury her face in his chest to muffle another cry aloud at the most vicious contraction yet. She wants to fight him, demand he put down her awkward bulk before he falls and hurts them both, but keeping a lid on her anxiety and breathing as she has been taught are taking nearly all of her focus and strength. Henry is no dunce; he has probably already figured out what’s happening and worrying, she frets, eyes slipping closed for a minute as she simply tries to think straight. 

Before she knows it, Killian is easing her down on the bunk they have shared every night they’ve ever spent together on his ship, gently brushing back wisps of hair gone sweaty with exertion from her forehead, before pulling back to give her an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry, Swan. Henry will be fine. As will you and our impatient babe. I will fill him in and be back before you know it. Just hold on, aye?”

Emma nods, blinking back more tears at his understanding exactly what she needs – his knowing just what to do, just what to say, what will make a frightening situation alright again for her in only a few words. It is hard to believe that even a month ago, he was the one beside himself with worry, when now that he sees her in need he seems so steady and calm. Killian turns and disappears back up the ladder; a moment later, she can hear his quick steps crossing the deck overhead. There are a few minutes of silence following, and she senses then that he must be telling Henry what’s really going on; that she is already in labor to bring his younger brother or sister into the world. What surprises her is that she soon feels the ship’s movement stall, coming to a standstill other than the gentlest continued rocking of the waves around them.

It isn’t long after that she hears two sets of footfalls pound across the boards above her, then the hatch opening to allow both her True Loves down to her; Killian dropping into the small room as agile as a cat while Henry clambers after him, eyes wide as he takes in her panting, aching form on the bed where Killian left her.

They take up positions, one on either side of her, and Killian kneels to her left, brushing his hook, the cool curve soothing, over her flushed cheek while offering her his good hand and raising the back of her palm to his lips when she takes it and laces their fingers together. “Don’t worry, Love. Everything will be fine. We’ve dropped anchor so that the both of us are free to aid you, and all will be right – Whale or no.”

Emma looks up into those mesmerizing blue eyes, feeling as though she should want to rail at him for getting her into this situation, want to squeeze the hand in hers until she breaks all his knuckles and he hurts as much as she does right now, and demand how he knows it will all work out. Yet that open gaze of wonder, admiration, and love he has fixed on her makes the only real emotion she can register one of gratitude that Killian is right there at her side with no intention of leaving her.

Henry rests his hand on her opposite shoulder then, as if just needing to touch and lend his mom what encouragement he can. His hand is strong, slightly calloused, and larger than she remembers it being; her boy is nearly a man, and it suddenly seems as though it has happened right before her eyes. She leans her head over to rest against his when Henry bows his forehead to meet hers, whispering a soft ‘thank you’ to her beautiful, amazing, and incredible son. He could begrudge her all of this, what with the mistakes she made and the way his own life had begun; he could have wanted no part of this new family dynamic and a younger sibling that she plans to raise from the very start. Instead, with true grace and empathy, Henry has welcomed this coming child as a second chance for all of them, just as he has always managed to understand that his mom had only wished him to have his best chance in life with every fiber of her battered young heart, and that was the only reason she had let him go those many years past.

“You’ve done this before, Mom,” Henry reminds her now, managing to evoke at least a bit of a jesting tone in his delivery. “Plus, you’re pretty much the strongest person I know. You’ve got this…well, we’ve got this.”

“Aye, that we do, Darling,” Killian agrees, slipping his arm behind her to tilt her forward, putting several pillows behind her to help prop her up somewhat, as if he somehow knows that she’d realized the time to push is close at hand.

Quickly, Henry heads to the galley for clean towels and hot water when Killian asks for them. While her son is gone, her husband helps her shed the outfit she had been wearing for their sailing venture and don instead a simple, lightweight shift, before placing a sheet over her bottom half and bent knees, as he has seen several times by now, both on television in her world and at the various other births they have borne witness to at this point. By the time Henry returns with the requested items, they have her settled once more and Killian is at her feet, coaxing her to breathe as Whale has had them practice and reminding her when to push as the time is fast approaching. “I am no Dr. Frankenstein, but I will do the best I can, Love. It would seem our littlest pirate is no longer willing to wait.”

Emma huffs a short, nervous laugh between gasps for air and groans as she feels the pressure and stretching within her abdomen only heighten. “Honestly, Killian, I wouldn’t mind an actual doctor’s expertise, but I think I’d rather have you down there than him, if the truth be told.”

Henry chooses that moment to break up the exchange before things grow any more awkward, and he comes back to her head, letting her lean against him and supporting her shoulders. Soon, it all blurs into her two loves’ voices giving instructions and speaking encouragement, measured breaths, blinding pain, and pushing, until she feels she has no more strength left, not a single ounce of energy still within her body to give. Her surroundings and the passing minutes blend together hazily in increasing agony.

“Come on, Mom!” Henry urges at her ear, pleasing earnestly as he continues, “One more push! You’re almost there!”

Tossing her head back and forth weakly, Emma senses her words more than actually hearing them as she tells him ‘no’, she can’t, it’s too much, there’s nothing left.

Suddenly, Killian’s voice snaps through the fog, breaking like lightning, a lifeline tossed into murky seas and towing her back to shore. “Emma! You must!” he demands, his voice, raw and urgent, but implacable, allowing no other choice. “I can see the crown of the head. Push, Lass! Now! Once more! You can do this!!”

Calling on every reserve she can muster, clenching muscles she never even realized she had, Emma bears down once more, pushing, straining, until all at once the cord she has felt constricting her breaks, a force expels, and she falls back, drained, to the wailing cry of an infant.

Giddily, her hurt and exhaustion flip on their head into a dazed sort of euphoria. Her eyes roll to Henry, who is grinning down at the end of the bunk where Killian is cradling a squalling, red, and flailing newborn as he attempts to clear its airways and wipe clean the delicate, rosy skin. 

“You did it, Mom! We made it!” Henry beams back at her, shifting and leaving her side for a moment to help Killian maneuver and settle the child, wrapping it in a spare sheet from a cupboard and settling her in the crook of his stepfather’s blunted arm.

In just a few more moments, Killian is bringing the swaddled bundle of precious little girl to his wife and laying the crying child in her arms, where the little one promptly stills to mere sniffles, seemingly soothed by her mother’s very touch. “We’ve a daughter, Swan,” her pirate announces, already entranced and clearly wrapped around the wee infant’s tiny fingers. His voice is hushed with blissful reverence as he looks on, watching their daughter’s rosebud mouth purse and her eyes blink curiously up at them all, then staring at Emma in wonder, as if hardly daring to believe this has all just happened.

For a moment in the ship’s cabin, the world slows and allows a frozen tableau of perfect delight. The gurgling little girl already sporting a head full of her papa’s dark hair, her two enamored, drained, and enthralled parents, plus one proud big brother, all elated at the result of the last few hour’s hurried proceedings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~8888888888888888~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When, a month later, the newest heir to the throne of Misthaven and the Enchanted Forest is presented in court, Morgan Ruth Jones shows every bit of her mother’s pluck and her father’s mischievous charm when she reaches up to tug a curl of her grandmother Queen Snow White’s hair as she rests in her arms, grinning toothlessly at the gathered assembly and winning all her future subjects over as easily as blinking her eyes. From where they stand to the side looking on, Emma threads her arm through Killian’s and gazes up to see that his eyes are suspiciously misty. Reflecting on how their little miracle child has continued to surprise and delight them every day since that of her birth, is only another confirmation of how very blessed she is, after all the heartache that came before. If there were ever a fitting exclamation point to signal the conclusion of their story’s start, and lead into the rest of the long-awaited fairy tale, it would be their daughter, without doubt. Henry himself could not have written a happier beginning.


	35. Do-Si-Dos and Tagalongs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally written for CS Halloweek on Tumblr... featuring lots of fluff and a pirate captain who can't resist adorably mischievous Girl Scouts.

“Do-Si-Dos & Tagalongs”

 

It all began with little Robyn, as it often did, and her wisps of untamed auburn hair framing her face, with that mischievous, gap-toothed six-year-old child’s grin and twinkle in her bright, beguiling eyes – both features that never failed to remind those who had known him of her late father and the bit of roguish bandit his smile never quite lost, even after settling in modern day Storybrooke. She had come to the two-story house Emma, Killian, and Henry had called home for some five years, with a platter full of cookies and tarts, nearly three months past, beaming and incredibly proud of herself as she presented the whole thing to the Savior, her pirate husband, and their Author son, whom she merely called “Auntie Emma”, “Uncle Killy”, and “Cousin Henry”, as a ‘thank you’ to the three of them for helping her to corral and coax her erstwhile little black cat Mac back home when he’d gotten out of the house and made a beeline for trouble, just as his young mistress often did. Regina and Zelena both trailed after her, doing their best to look bored and unconcerned with the proceedings, hands in pockets of tailored coats and matching sisterly arched brows challenging anyone to assume otherwise.

It was Regina who had shrugged sardonically when Killian exclaimed over the deliciousness of the crisp, chocolate Thin Mints, “No need to get so excited, Pirate. We just over-ordered from the Girl Scouts.”

There had been a whole, long explanation required of Emma from her inquisitive Captain once the Mills sisters and their pint size charge had gone. ‘What were Girl Scouts? Why did they sell cookies? How does one procure such delicacies? Which flavors were the best?’ and so on. For the moment, however, Emma had not been able to do more than giggle to herself at her dumbstruck husband smiling affectionately at the little girl and her gift, crow’s feet crinkling adorably beside his eyes – not to mention Robyn beaming back at him. She had sneakily managed to snap a couple pictures of the whole thing with her iPhone before Killian realized, and though Henry had seen what she was up to and smirked knowingly, he had refrained from giving her away.

Emma hadn’t thought much more about the little episode since. As was always true of Girl Scout cookies (and homemade Enchanted Forest-style apple and cherry tarts too, she was quickly learning) the plate of goodies hadn’t lasted long. Henry, fully a teenager and having recently taken up track at Violet, Grace, and Nicholas and Ava’s urging, (‘His own little crew!’, the perpetual loner Emma had been all through her own school years kept crowing happily inside) ate enough for the three of them combined, Killian had the most ridiculous sweet tooth she had ever seen, and she was rapidly discovering her own weakness for warmed up baked goods of all kinds on a chilly Fall evening. Never in her life had Emma been so settled and comfortable in one place for so long, and she couldn’t deny that she was savoring it. So when her favorites, the Do-Si-Dos, Henry’s preferred Samoas, and Killian’s Thin Mints all vanished by the end of that week, she was disappointed to find their surprise treats gone, but not at all shocked. Nothing seemed strange in fact, until she went to dig through her purse where she always kept five or ten bucks worth of dollar bills tucked away for impulsive buys, and instead found nothing but empty space.

The first time, she merely shook her head at herself; confused, but figuring that she must have snagged something at the gas station counter the last time she filled the Bug and then forgotten to replenish her stash. But it kept happening – a second, third, fourth, and even fifth, time. The radar which used to serve her well as a bail bondsperson tracking down skips in Boston had been set off and her suspicious nature engaged. A strange little mystery had presented itself in her house by the sea – and Emma Swan was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Henry was her first suspect, as she thought he might have just figured he was getting a quick advance on his allowance to take his friends for Cokes and cheese fries at Granny’s after practice or something like that. Yet, after watching her son for just a couple of days – and his allowance payout coming and going without him offering to pay her back – Emma ruled him out as the culprit. That only left her sneakily playful pirate husband, and honestly she should have known it was him without even having to test her findings.

Emma wasn’t sure how Killian was managing to swipe his loot right out from under her nose without her being able to catch him at it, and she was even more puzzled by what he could possibly be buying so often that she never saw a trace of, but then, she had never doubted how slick he was, and he’d had centuries to perfect his skills. 

The whole little intrigue carried on for nearly another month before Emma finally got the lucky break that spoiled Killian’s secret. She came home early from the station one afternoon; her dad having arrived a couple hours ahead of his own shift to give her a break, and as she turned the corner onto their street – though theirs was really the only house on it as the land began to roll down toward the harbor – she saw Killian closing the door behind him as he disappeared back inside, while Robyn with one of her little Girl Scout buddies in tow hopped down the front steps and out through the white picket fence onto the sidewalk, the two of them giggling together conspiratorially as they did.

Pulling up beside them, Emma parked her car at the curb quickly and hopped out to catch them before they could get far. She met the girls at the sidewalk, and for a moment wasn’t sure whether to crouch down at their level playfully, or to cross her arms and give them her ‘Mom’ look to get the answers she suddenly sensed she had found at last. She went with arms crossed authoritatively over her chest, eyebrow cocked expectantly, not wanting to consider the fact that she must look like some sort of blonde cross between her own schoolteacher-princess mother and Robyn’s Aunt Regina when she meant business. All she said was, “What brings you two here?” with a hint of a jest in her words, even though her stance clearly expected an answer. 

Robyn had the decency to flush and look a bit nervous, her eyes falling to study the squeaky-clean saddle shoes she always wore with her Girl Scout uniform, before snapping her eyes back up to the Savior’s with a smile that would have done both her snarky mother and her charming outlaw father proud. ‘Oh yeah,’ Emma thought, she was definitely seeing a bit of Zelena’s formerly conniving streak now. “Nothing really,” the girl tried brightly. “Laney had just never met Captain Hook before, and so I told her it was no big deal, we were tight, and brought her over.”

The other little girl said nothing to confirm or deny Robyn’s claim, though her awkward shifting from side-to-side easily spoke for itself. Not that Emma would have mistaken her for the ringleader of whatever shenanigan was playing out here anyway; that had her unofficial niece’s fingerprints all over it. “That’s all, huh?” Emma questioned, making her tone clearly convey her doubt.

Zelena’s little troublemaker she might be, but Robyn had a penchant for stepping into mischief that was all her own and everyone knew it. When Emma didn’t budge, it only took a few more awkward seconds of stare down on the sidewalk before the little schemer cracked. When she spoke again, it was with the sincere tone of Robin Hood, legend of Sherwood Forest, which she confessed. “Oh alright, fine! You caught us! But it was just too easy not to try!”

“Wait…what was too easy?” Emma questioned, momentarily more confused than she had been, tapping her foot on the concrete and giving the youngster an even more searching look. “What are you talking about?!?” she pressed in near exasperation. 

It was at this juncture that Robyn’s little pal lost her nerve and deserted the cause, clearly not having signed on to face questioning by the Sheriff-Savior. She blurted out an excuse about her mom waiting for her, blushing and stammering as she did, and then turned tail and ran.

“Fraidy cat,” Robyn muttered in disgust, the curled lip and glower she adopted as she crossed her own little arms in annoyance reminding Emma so strongly of the now reformed Wicked Witch in her heyday that for a moment she almost burst out laughing at the expression on such a tiny face, completely ruining the serious stance she was trying to hold.

“Okay, Robyn,” Emma sighed, once it was just the two of them. With a guiding hand on the little girl’s shoulder, she walked them back toward the front porch, taking a seat on the steps with her. “Let’s have it – the truth this time. Whatever you’ve been up to, it can’t be that terrible. I’m not really mad, just ready to get to the bottom of this little mystery.”

Robyn heaved a large sigh, dramatically aggrieved as only a little girl could be, and then finally started talking. “I just wanted our troop to sell the most cookies – and your husband’s such an easy target. You know that, right? I mean, I figured it out weeks ago when we brought you guys those ‘Thank You’ treats – Mom, Aunt Regina, and I… remember?”

Emma nodded, thinking back over evening meals since then, when Killian hadn’t eaten much and she had questioned if he felt alright, only to have him say he wasn’t very hungry; occasions where she had offered to make cookies and he had evasively insisted she needn’t trouble herself on his account, and again to the odd disappearance of her random bits of spending money. She was putting the pieces together even before Robyn finished coming clean.

“Your pirate just can’t resist us,” the kid shrugged, looking only a little bit sheepish now that she was caught, but not really sorry. “I don’t know if it’s the outfits, or little girls with big pleading eyes needing help, or if he just really likes our cookies, but every time I bring a new member of the troop by with boxes to sell, no matter how often we show up, he buys some more. It’s like he can’t help himself. And hey, who am I to complain?”

Emma snorted indelicately, struck by Robyn’s cunning and ingenuity, along with the sheer ridiculousness of the entire situation. Shaking her head in both disbelief and begrudging affection that wouldn’t have him any other way, Emma wondered mildly for a few seconds how she hadn’t known this was the case from the start. ‘Fearsome pirate of the seas,’ she mocked in her head, ‘bested by a bunch of cute six-year-olds with baked goods.’ 

Knowing that she shouldn’t simply let Robyn off with being so opportunistic and sneaky, yet not really sure what to do about it either, Emma merely gave the little girl a wry smile and light one-armed squeeze to her side with a gentle remonstrance. “Well, it’s not like you’ve really done much harm – except to my pocketbook.” She did frown just a bit there, and Robyn looked genuinely contrite. “But no more, okay? I don’t know where my pirate has been stashing his loot, but he has to be almost out of room. We’ve made our contribution to the Girl Scouts for the year. Got it?”

Robyn nodded dutifully, and though there was no judging the mischief that her hurricane “niece” could get into, Emma sensed that she understood the game was up. 

Ruffling Robyn’s hair, Emma felt a momentary pang in her chest, picturing Henry at that age and wondering what he had been like and if he had been as playfully ornery as well. Having her son with her now, the relationship they had forged, and the family they’d become was incredible – so much more than she had ever thought she would have – but things happened occasionally, striking her at the oddest times and there would be a melancholy moment or two of wishing she could take a portal back in time to re-live what she had lost with her son, who would be grown up and ready to leave them all too soon.

As if sensing her change in mood, Robyn reached out her little hand to lay it on Emma’s arm. “Aunt Emma?” she asked softly, her voice as hesitant and concerned as it ever got. “Are you alright? Your eyes got kinda funny and far away.”

Shaking the bittersweet reflections from her mind, Emma gave Robyn another gentle smile. “Yep, Trouble, I’m fine. Just got sidetracked for a minute.” She stood and pulled Robyn up playfully beside her. “Now, you’d better go home before it starts getting dark. We’re good, okay? Don’t worry. I am gonna have to call your Mom and talk to her about this, but I imagine if you don’t pull any more get-rich-quick schemes, we’ll all just put this behind us.”

“Okay, Aunt Emma,” Robyn agreed, bouncing back to her usual chipper self and past the anxious moment with a child’s usual resilience. She gave her honorary auntie a hug around the waist, which Emma gladly returned, and then set off toward Zelena’s little house a block over. 

“Go straight home and get there safe!” Emma called after her in parting, to which she saw Robyn nod smartly and wave back over her shoulder. Emma watched her until the little girl rounded the corner at the end of the street and out of sight.

Turning, Emma opened their heavy oak front door and slipped into their home soundlessly, hoping if her luck held, that she just might catch Killian unawares with his prize. What she got as she stood in the entryway, flabbergasted and mouth hanging open, was not quite what she had expected at all. Standing almost directly across from her, frozen before the door into the cellar that until now they had both skirted around and almost never opened – demons purged, but still not eager to loose painful memories – looking both startled at patently guilty, was her husband. Caught red handed, Emma’s inner voice supplied smugly.

“Why, hello there, Love,” Killian finally greeted, trying for suave and “turning on the smolder” as Emma had often teased him in calling it since showing her pirate Tangled and delighting in his resounding approval of Flynn Rider. He would have succeeded too, if she hadn’t known him as well as she did. “You’re home early.”

“Yep,” she stated simply, popping the ‘p’ sound as he often did in his own speech and immediately causing a change in his demeanor, alerted that she was onto his subterfuge. Emma pushed away from the door and stalked toward him slowly, the heels of her boots on hardwood the only sound in the quiet foyer as her gaze pinned him in place – turning all of his usual methods back on him and loving it. 

“Would you like to tell me what you’ve been up to?” she queried, her voice practically a purr as she reached out a finger to run lightly through the chest hair peeking out of his overly undone shirt collar and batting her lashes seductively at him, as if she really were some blushing damsel in his original realm.

“Why – uh – whatever do you mean, Swan?” he tried, an equally over-the-top stab at guileless innocence on his face and in those stunning blue eyes, even as she also saw him swallow hard and scratch nervously behind his ear, the one tic he couldn’t seem to rid himself of, no matter how much a dead giveaway it was.

“I mean,” Emma murmured silkily, eyes narrowing as she leaned in even closer to him, nose almost brushing against his and her breath hot along his collarbone as she practically licked her lips while studying her quarry. Granted, her own pulse had skyrocketed at his close proximity, but she was more pleased to revel in the way her husband squirmed nervously under her hungry gaze. “You’ve been discovered, Pirate. Your supplier ratted you out.”

At that, Killian huffed out a low breath, eyes falling as he gave a slight chuckle and shook his head, having known his wife would eventually get to the bottom of what he had been doing, and almost relieved to have the secret out in the open. He truly had not meant to gather such and collection of the things anyway, but he simply could not bring himself to say no to the adorable miniature females in their sharp skirt and vest ensembles, and by this point, he was pretty sure they knew it and kept arriving at his doorstep on purpose. At any rate, Emma might have his head at the amount of money he had pilfered from her and spent needlessly, but surely they would enjoy the spoils, if nothing else. At length, with a short dip of his head in a resigned nod, Killian answered, “Aye, I figured she might at some point.”

Emma couldn’t help cracking the tiniest smile, the whole thing so silly, so domestic, so normal, and nothing like the trials they had faced ever since meeting one another and the secrets they once held back for fear of losing the other they had fought so hard to find. She shook her head, leaning in to rest her forehead against his, simply enjoying the warm comfort of his skin on hers and the soft texture of his hair where her fingers had delved in at his nape. “You’re hopeless, Babe… You know that, don’t you?”

“As you say, Wife,” he agreed good naturedly, his voice low and mumbled against the shell of her ear, making her tremble helplessly to the point of being weak-kneed, the stern composure she’d been trying to hold long gone.

“Well, let’s see this stash of booty you’ve stored up,” she prodded, curious now just how many boxes of Girl Scout cookies he had managed to amass, and anxious to tease him just a little bit more about how he had been so taken in.

Sighing with mostly pretended reluctance, Killian took her hand and led her back down the cellar steps behind him, into the once dark room she had not ventured to for some time. Once there, to her amused shock and surprise, right up against the bars where she had once, while possessed by the Darkness, bound Gold as a prisoner, were stacked boxes and boxes of every type cookie the Scouts sold, nearly reaching up to the ceiling. There was nothing else to do but burst into a fit of helpless giggles, and when she did, leaning into her husband’s side to stay upright, Emma felt his shoulders shaking as he joined in.

Never again would she look at this space and see nothing but lonely dark and a depth of despair and hate. Unintentional though it might have been, Killian had placed a whole new memory front and center.

They ended up bagging the cookies in half dozens and giving them out to very happy trick-or-treaters the next week on Halloween night.

And if they enjoyed feeding the remnants of the last couple boxes to each other in bed… well, that was their own delicious secret no one else need know.


	36. Our Own Traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second offering for a CS Halloweek event, this is meant to be set in the time between the Season Six finale and Henry’s leaving to go seek his own story. I have had Killian and Emma have a child much sooner, but other than that, I don’t think things are too out of line with canon. Of course I don’t own them, or we would have gotten to see a lot more fluff like this onscreen! Please enjoy – I’d love to hear what you think!!

            “Morgan, come on!” Henry’s exasperated 17-year-old voice, deepened and lowered over the last couple of years in a way that sometimes surprises his stepfather still – to say nothing of the mother who can’t believe how fast the few years they’ve had together have flown and has to constantly remind herself not to hold on to tightly as Henry looks at colleges for the following fall – rumbles with impatience and fond consternation as he kneels next to his three-year-old sister to wrangle her into the black and white striped leggings she had been determined to wear not even an hour before.

            Killian Jones is already on the way to rescue his poor, beleaguered stepson before even Henry’s almost-endless well of patience is exhausted, but he can’t help pausing to shake his head with a chuckle at the petulant response he hears from his stubborn daughter before he does so.  His booted tread in the upstairs hallway stops just beyond the open door of Morgan Ruth Jones’ room, listening for a moment to the sounds he never dreamed he would get to hear – not after his life had spun so far off course for so long, longer than any mortal man should be allowed to get back on course – the voices of children of his own, _his family._

            The rise in pitch and volume, and the clear sound of little stamping feet – a definite sign that his bullheaded tyke’s determination is nowhere near abating, pulls the former pirate captain from his reverie and into the fray.  Upon setting foot in the deeply purple-bedecked room, (it’s the color of royalty, Morgan had informed him archly when he’d asked her why everything must be purple), he sees his little girl’s lower lip jutting out and her face scrunching up in preparation for a full-on pout, while she shakes her head side-to-side in adamant refusal and yells once more, “No, Henwy! Nooo!” She points her chubby little finger at the offending article of costume clothing once more, as imperious as a half-dressed toddler can possibly be.  “I’m a piwate queen!  Those are for silly clowns!”

            Henry heaves a long-suffering sigh.  Killian can see his ever-broadening young man shoulders rise and fall with the action, and he again marvels at his stepson’s fortitude and good heartedness – most teenagers simply wouldn’t bother with a so much younger sibling, or their tempers would have long since sparked and led them to storm off in disgust.  Though Killian cannot see the lad’s face, he can easily picture how Henry must be biting down on his lower lip in consternation, the way he does when either holding back a sharp retort or concentrating hard.

            Making his presence known with a cleared throat and carefully arched brow, Killian swaggers into the room, turning on a mere fraction of the bluster and bravado he marshalled in his early days as Captain of the Jolly Roger, when he was still proving himself and making it known he was not to be crossed.  Directing a steady eye at his daughter, he calls out, “What have we here?  Dissent amongst me crew?”

            Henry turns partially to look over a shoulder at him, smirking despite the honest gratitude in his eyes.  Clearly the lad is about to reach the end of his rope in dealing with an obstinate three-year-old.  Killian gives him a nod, and Henry stands quickly, sweeping out of the room with the dramatic help of the heavy red velvet cape draped over his shoulders – his whole outfit a loving parody of his grandfather in full kingly Enchanted Forest attire.

            “Now, Lassie,” Killian intones, his voice sounding serious, but his eyebrows waggling playfully at the same time, not for anything wishing to genuinely scare her.  “What seems to be the trouble?  I’ll wager you have just cause for giving my trusty first mate such trouble?”

            Morgan dips her head, a mixture of hiding her eyes as she often does when she knows she’s been willful, and in bashful response to the complete pirate act he is putting on.  She almost giggles, but then, with a solemnity that surprises him and seems almost beyond her years, she looks back up to her papa – and he is glad that she still sees him beneath the façade, no matter what – eyes wide and sincere and answers, “He was trying to make me wear these!”  She wrinkles her nose and holds up the striped leggings, which would really look quite striking with all the red and black in her outfit, if Killian did say so himself.  However, his little marauder’s face is scrunched up in complete disgust.  “They aren’t fit for a piwate queen!” she protests heatedly.

            Now it is Killian who has to bite back laughter at her vehemence and the affront written all over her face.  The tyke has been set on being a pirate this Hallow’s Eve since the odd double feature of the demented Mr. Disney’s _Peter Pan_ and _Pirates of the Caribbean_ which Henry had suggested slyly one Friday movie night back in May.  He still shudders at the depiction of himself in the first film, but Morgan – whom they had not even thought was watching at the time – had become seemingly captivated by the sea, ships, and everything pirate, ever since.

            Killian kneels at her level, forcing complete seriousness into his voice and managing to master the humor he feels at the whole episode.  Reaching out with hook and hand, he snags the offending tights that he knows for a fact his beloved wife had chosen for how cute she had thought they’d be with Morgan’s pirate costume, as well as for how warm they would be while they were traipsing around town trick-or-treating in the chill Autumn air.  With his hand at her back pulling her in close, Killian holds the tights up on his hook before his daughter’s eyes.  “You believe these are not pirate garb?” he questions, preparing his story so as to make it utterly convincing.

            Morgan shakes her head stoutly, clearly ready to argue if anyone thinks they are going to make her wear something she doesn’t want. However, a look of slight doubt appears on her brow, as if she is curious in spite of herself. Her papa is after all her favorite pirate.

            “Well,” he tilts his head, giving his little lass one of his best rakish grins, “I’ll have you know that Mr. Smee, my right hand man on the ship for years, had long underwear he wore in the winter months which were striped just like these.  Bill Jukes once nettled him within an inch of his life after Smee split his pant seams in back and all aboard saw his “fancy skivvies” as Jukes put it.  Poor man never did live them down, but he refused to part with the things either.  Said nothing else had ever kept him half as warm as those when the truly icy winds blew in off the water.”

            “Really?” Morgan asks, still looking a bit dubious, but now studying the tights he holds out to her with renewed interest.

            “Aye. Really,” he affirms with a nod.

            “Alright then,” she concedes, reaching out to take the leggings and then plopping down on her rump to pull the stretchy material over her feet and up her chunky toddler legs beneath the gathered black skirt, red shirt, and black vest that all work to compliment the eye patch covering her right eye (and half her face) and the red bandana tied around her wild, dark hair so much like his.

            “Now your pirate boots, me hearty,” Killian offers, sliding them over to speed the process now that he has her cooperation.  He knew that Emma had intended them to already be at Granny’s by now, where they were meeting her parents with little Neal, Ashley and Sean Herman with Alexandra, as well as Philip and Aurora with their little boy to go trick-or-treating as a group.  Their first stop was the library to pick up Belle and Gideon, now nearly five and curiously anxious for them all to see his costume Belle had told them the other day with cryptic mischief in her voice.  Killian was somewhat dreading what the child of the Dark One might decide to dress as for Halloween, and had tried to prepare himself to take yet another highly unflattering portrayal of himself in good grace, and yet he couldn’t begrudge them letting mother and son join their party.  He knew Gold would not deign to dress up and parade around town with such frivolous intent and mingle with those he deemed beneath him.  Now that Gideon was once more a child the correct age and not out to hurt his Swan, Killian had no issue with him; in fact, the lad was quite good hearted – sweet and engaging – clearly taking after his mother.  And he always enjoyed Belle’s company, more than almost any other except his lovely wife, and welcomes a chance to spend a couple of hours talking with her as they follow their children and friends around Storybrooke, catching up with her and seeing that she is indeed well, even if she is married to his Crocodile.

            “Avast ye lubber!” Morgan calls out loudly and effectively shattering his thoughts.  She rockets to her feet with a chortle of glee at the pirate insult she knows she has flung at him, and now bounces anxiously on the balls of her little booted feet, ready to go at last.

            “That’s Captain to you, Matey!” Killian teasingly chastises, standing once again himself and passing the rather authentic-looking plastic cutlass to her at the door, finishing off her adorably fierce look, much to Morgan’s clear delight. 

            Clapping her tiny hands happily, Morgan grins and practically squeals with excitement, finally betraying the pirate persona she has clung to and looking like the ecstatic little girl she is.  “Up, Papa!” she commands, lifting her arms and wildly brandishing the toy weapon he barely dodges while bending to swing her up into his arms.

            “Is that an order, My Queen?” he asks, holding her slight weight with his good arm, while playfully poking her stomach with the dull curve of his hook, causing her to dissolve in laughter and throw her arms around his neck.  Her breath is warm on his skin and her tiny button nose presses in close to his ear snugly.

            “Yes, Daddy,” she says softly, stroking gentle, childish fingers over his neck and giggling once more, obviously both pleased with herself and his response.  By now they are clattering down the stairs, and he can see both Emma and Henry waiting for them at the front door. 

            Emma gives Henry a shrug as if to say, _‘at least he’s finally got her ready to go’_ , ruffles her son’s hair in a way he doesn’t often allow anymore, and then steps forward, smiling at her husband wryly and reaching up to right Morgan’s eye patch where it has gone a bit askew.  Now standing before them, she runs her thumb tenderly over the old scar on his cheek, as she speaks.  “Is the Queen of the Pirates finally satisfied?” she asks with equal seriousness, having learned the hard way not to upset their daughter’s good moods when they have them, as Morgan is both as passionate and stubborn as her mother and her father combined and as likely to fly into a temper as to charm them.

            Morgan nods, raising her plastic sword toward the front door, which Henry has opened and waits beside, clearly beyond ready to get going at last.  “Onward!” she commands, bouncing in Killian’s arms as if to urge him forward. 

            Once they move off down the porch steps and up the sidewalk toward the center of town, Killian leans over to whisper in his wife’s ear, “Sorry it took us so long, Love.  She needed a bit of convincing that the tights were proper buccaneering attire.  I hope by the time this evening is finished you still feel all this was worth your trouble procuring costumes and clearing your schedule to set up.”

            Emma merely smiles back at him, staring up into his eyes as she takes his hook in her hand, leaning into his side while they walk.  “It already is, Killian.  Look at this.  We have a family, both of us.  I never had this as a kid.  I know you didn’t either, but now… for Henry a little while yet, and for Morgan…we can give them what we wished for.  We can give them traditions all our own.  Thank you for that.”

            Killian bends to press a quick kiss to her brow, causing a “blech!” exclamation from a dismissive Morgan that they both completely ignored.  “Thank _you_ , Emma,” he returns, the smile on his face adoring and soft enough to stop her breath in her throat.  “I love you – and this life we have – more than I can rightly say.”

            As the night goes on, their whole motley crew gaily pillages and plunders the town of all its delicious goodies, earning delighted exclamations for their creative dress and festive spirit.  Granny sends the adults who desire it on their way with rum-spiked hot chocolate, a wink to the former pirate as she bestows his on him giving away her rarely-won affection. Garnering the most laughter and applause of all is young Gideon Gold, dressed – to everyone’s surprise – in a head-to-toe green outfit that Belle has clearly sewn herself, as an actual toothy crocodile, complete with ticking alarm clock tucked under one arm.  Killian has to tip his hat to the boy, and his gumption – though he wisely refrains from asking if Gideon’s father saw his outfit or what might have been Rumplestitltskin’s response.

            Long past midnight, when the revelry is through and all are tucked in bed, Killian and Emma have a bit of adult dress-up and plundering of their own, introducing yet another tradition that neither of them would object to upholding for years to come.  The following Halloween, they have a three-month-old to outfit and take with them on their yearly trick-or-treating venture, but if anyone else questions them, neither Savior nor Captain admit to that being anything more than a happy coincidence.

 

           


	37. By A Sleep We Hope to End the Heartache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (So this was originally written for the second edition of the CS Storybook on Tumblr – go check that out if you haven’t, it’s amazing!! Then I realized I had never posted it on here. My episode was 5x04 “Broken Kingdom” and I wanted to imagine how Killian might have tried to help comfort a sleepless Emma as she fought the darkness within. Hope you enjoy! I’d love – as always – to hear what you think!)

“Lass…Emma… Love, please, you have to stop…” his quiet voice, vibrating with emotion despite its soothing timbre, still somehow managed to slice through the paranoia, the swirling images, and yammering voices roiling inside her skull. It was the one thing other than her son’s hopeful, trusting face, which had managed to do so since she had risen from the ominous hatch in the Camelot forest, alone, confused, and the newest Dark One. Her stride faltered at his plea, her step finally pausing before the window of the castle suite they had been given by Arthur for their accommodation.

  
Looking over her shoulder to find his fraught gaze, Emma turned slightly toward the pirate, a glance half exasperation and half desperate need on her conflicted face. “What do you want from me, Killian?” she whispered tiredly, her shoulders slumping with a weary defeat he had rarely seen from her. He had no way of knowing that Emma desired nothing so much as to cross the large open chamber and collapse into his arms, as she had a week ago when they first found her in the stone circle about to crush Merida’s heart. His embrace tight around her, his heart beating frantically just under her palm, those few moments had been the only time the riot inside her head had seemed to cease – when she could think clearly, as only herself. She needed that relief again, and yet she feared letting down her guard, even for a moment’s comfort. She was barely keeping all the violent, persuasive urges twining through her consciousness at bay, barely keeping all the raw power tingling under her skin from breaking free. She could not allow herself the peace of Killian’s embrace; rest might let the horrors loose upon them all.

  
Her pirate watched her knowingly, his eyes gentle, yet seeing and understanding too much as his discerning gaze studied her from across the room. Those blue pools of his stare took in the way she vibrated slightly, no matter how she tried to hold still. He saw the tangled, disheveled fall of her hair – usually more a silky sheet of gold – the strange, rough grey duster she wore, still trailing dirt and dried leaves from the forest floor behind her. This was his Swan before him yet, but she was in distress and guarded once more, in a way she had finally begun to put in her past – and he experienced a disorienting, long rush of despair at how to help her. He only knew for certain that he must find a way.

  
“Come here, Lass,” he finally murmured, half a directive and half an appeal, as he held out his hand to her from where he sat at the edge of the room’s large canopy bed.

  
“Why?” she fired back nervously. “I’m the Dark One now. I don’t sleep, remember?”

  
The unhinged tone in her voice, as well as the unvarnished bitterness, worried him more than he cared to admit. Killian hesitated, biting his lip and considering his next words carefully. His pause only seemed to agitate her further. Why indeed? And yet, he could not help but want her near, wish to gather her to his side, run the curve of his hook down her spine, and attempt to soothe her, bring her some measure of comfort, however ineffectual it might prove in the end.

  
Heaving a deep sigh, Killian forced his voice to remain slow and even, despite his frustration and his utter anger at the situation his Love had been cast into. Crooking his fingers in invitation, beckoning her forward while keeping his hand extended to her palm up, he raised an eyebrow slightly in challenge. “Nor am I trying to force you to, Emma. I have not forgotten what you are battling, but can I not try to aid you in the fight? Can I not hold the woman I love for a few moments?”

  
Her lower lip trembled in response, before she pressed her mouth tightly closed, considering his offer, the longing clear on her face, until she let her swirling green eyes meet his at last. “Y-you still…you still see me?” she finally whispered, her voice desperately fearful, quivering at the end with hope.

  
There was no need for flowery words, only to hold her gaze, give a decided, affirmative nod and answer, “Aye.”

  
At that single word, Emma took one hesitant, faltering step toward him, then another, until he could clasp her hand in his questing fingers and pull her against him, sitting at the edge of the rich, overlarge bed. Mumbling quiet nonsense, Killian tucked Emma under his chin, cradling the back of her head in his palm and rocking them gently from side to side. “Shh, Love, shh… it’s going to be alright,” he crooned, injecting steadfast certainty he wished he truly felt into his tone.

  
Emma’s voice was broken and child-like as she spoke, her words muffled slightly by the leather of his sleeve. “How can it be?” she asked plaintively. There was something achingly human about her now, when before she had seemed so steely and impervious – untouchable as she stood at the window like a sentry, proud and strong, but cold and hard as well, looking out over the courtyard into the dark night. The power within her was a distancing shield, a barrier higher and more impenetrable than her emotional walls had ever been. Pulling back again briefly to look into the limitless eyes of this man who had pulled her back from the brink, her face was flushed and wet with silently shed tears, as real and vulnerable as he had ever seen her. “I’m hanging by a thread, Killian. There’s so much pressing inside, trying to escape, and the voices, the Dark Ones before me, they’re constantly whispering, watching, tempting me and trying to take over. If I let my guard slip, if they get loose… I’m terrified of what might happen, what I might do… who I might hurt…” The last words dropped to the barest whisper, her eyes falling to their intertwined fingers anxiously, unable to see the disgust and disapproval that must surely be on the face that had always before been nothing short of adoring.

However, what she found when she looked up was far from devastating – so tender it made her very pulse still, bringing her up short and blinking in disbelief.

“That will never happen, Emma. I know it with every fiber of my being, as surely as I know the way around my ship and as clearly as the navigator’s course is marked by the stars in the sky. You are stronger than that demon, Love. Though I hate that you must fight so bitterly, I have no doubt that you will win.”

  
“Thank you for believing in me, Killian,” she bit her lip, the lower one caught by her teeth, and she continued to play with her fingers, again avoiding his eyes to stare at their joined hands. “But I can’t help worrying. You can’t know that for sure! When you found me yesterday evening, trying to take the dagger from Regina’s hiding place, I nearly took your head off! It was your quick reflexes that saved you, not any restraint of mine. I wasn’t in my right mind at all. Wh- what if you had been killed? What if you had been Henry? Or my mom with my little brother?”

  
Killian sighed, giving a moment for Emma to feel her words had sunk in, gathering her closer still against his chest and pressing his lips to the soft hair at the crown of her head, humming gently against her skin, hoping to quiet her anxious quaking in his arms. When he did speak at last, his voice was low, a mere warm undertone at her ear. “Swan, you have already fought back since then. Think of our ride this afternoon, and that moment of perfection in the Middlemist field. The Crocodile’s vile echo, nor any of the others, were there, were they? Those insidious voices vanished, aye? Do not grant them a way back in.”

  
Emma nodded weakly, burying her adorably perfect little nose into his thickly furred chest, as if it were the softest pillow she had ever rested against. Killian had never seen her so fragile – his angel of boots and leather and steely resolve – and though his heart swelled that she would finally turn to him in her need – he hated the burden she bore. It was too much, too much to ask of a woman who had been so strong and carried such hurt all her life. A little sigh escaped her rosebud lips, the breathe tickling his collarbone, and Killian felt a rush of tension and wild energy drain from her, her shoulders slumping and her slight form leaning against him more heavily for support.

  
“So, do you think you can allow yourself a bit of peace?” he asked, smoothing mussed strands of her hair back over her shoulder affectionately, just as he had done almost since their first meeting.

  
Emma only muttered unintelligibly against him at first, before she finally put enough distance between them for him to make out her husky voice. “I’ll lie down with you and try to rest a bit. You still need to sleep, Pirate. But I won’t…it won’t work…I’ve figured that out by now. It’s just the way it is…”

  
“Fair enough then, Swan. I will make do with what I can get,” he assured her, offering a crooked half-smile and scooting back toward the pillows piled at the head of the bed while still keeping her in his embrace.

  
She made no effort to distance herself, moving with him and placing her hand over his heart near her flushed cheek as he settled comfortably on the mattress, looking up at the high, stone ceiling above them. His one hand began to trace idle patterns on her shoulder and arm as they cuddled together, neither drifting into sleep yet, but perhaps finding a bit of respite all the same.

  
Eventually, when Killian did find his eyes fluttering closed, he began to speak, softly and almost without thought. He would not leave her alone in her struggle, and so he began to fill the void with words to keep himself awake and with her. To his own astonishment, what came to his lips were tales he had long forgotten until that moment, memories from when he was but a lad long ago, which no other person had heard – not even Milah or Bae – until that moment. And he was grateful then for Emma’s warmth and full attention as he spoke, emotions that had needed vent for centuries were now finally loosed – all the pain and rejection of being left alone and afraid in the dark, a child who had started out on an adventure with his papa and instead been thrown rudderless into the heaving waves of a cruel, treacherous adult world.

  
His voice dwelt haltingly on his one light – both his anchor and his compass – his Liam. Once begun, the story of their stolen boyhood streamed from him, the bits and pieces of the beloved older brother who had been his companion and the only family left to him, in a harsh, dark world of slavery and bleak deprivation. Liam, who had told him stories when he couldn’t sleep for the suffocating pitch blackness of the hold where they were sometimes locked at night merely for the sake of the other crew’s entertainment or for some imagined mistake, the growing young man who had given half his rations to his gangly younger brother whose belly never felt properly full, who had found a way to splint Killian’s ankle when the sadistic bosun on their master’s ship had yanked and twisted it to keep Killian from scaling the ropes to the crow’s nest where he could hide from the hulking man’s mistreatment, the protective father figure who had curled around his sibling offering body heat when they both shivered in their bunk, one threadbare blanket between them on winter nights at sea, and his hero who had given Killian the one gleam of hope he had possessed in those endless suffering years. It had all been pent inside him for so long that once he began to speak of Liam, Killian couldn’t bring himself to stop until it was all voiced. Liam Jones had been taken from the world much too soon, and Killian had not allowed himself to grieve – taken to piracy and retribution, plunging headlong down the ages until that moment in Arthur’s kingdom with his silently listening True Love.

  
His deluge of words did not seem to faze Emma; in fact, she appeared to welcome his outpouring, tracing gentle fingertips over the contours of his face and into his hair, the strokes as soothing as his touch had been to her a short time ago. Killian didn’t know how long he talked and Emma listened attentively, but his eyelids at last drooped closed in the still watches of the night, his voice slowing and tripping sluggishly, exhaustion and flagging adrenaline towing him under until he could not fight sleep any longer. He thought he saw Emma’s hand wave over him, but then he was lost in slumber.

~~~88~~~

  
When he woke with the next day’s dawn, the spot where she had rested beside him was still warm, but Emma was no longer there.

~~~88~~~

They set up a reassuring pattern after that. Night after night, for as long as they were guests in the castle of Camelot, Killian could at least coax Emma to lie down in the circle of his arms and rest her weary body, if not her mind in actual sleep. It was better than nothing, and the pirate strove with all he had to stay awake with her, to keep vigil at her side through the lonely grey hours, when she was most vulnerable and her strength might flag. Exhausted though they both were, it could have been so much worse, and Killian was grateful for what she did allow him to do. The first time he had fallen into slumber and woken with her gone, his heart had been in his throat, fearful for where she might have gone and what horror could have gripped her and spurred her from their resting place. However, when he found her where they all convened for breakfast, a tiny, almost light, smile curved her lips upward at the corners when she spied him. Something in her face let him know that she appreciated what he had shared, that he had allowed her to comfort him, and that somehow in granting her that caring gesture, he had made her feel more human once again, given her back a bit of herself.

  
Those sleepless nights in the broken kingdom of legend’s Once and Future King, when Emma curled into his side and he finally felt the shaking ease from the taut muscles she had held under rigid control all that day, more terrified with each passing one that she might slip and do some terrible magic she couldn’t take back, and he sensed more than heard her say that the hissing demons in her mind had ceased their torment for a while – those nights were when their fragile love, born in Stoybrooke over moonlit walks, pizza with Netflix, and interrupted coffee dates, took root and grew into something dauntless, lasting, and True. From those nights he held her until his body gave up and forced him to sleep, or they both stayed awake and saw the morning paint the sky together, from then on Captain Hook and his Swan savior were joined in a bond which could not be severed by distance or foe, the Darkness or even Fate.

  
Once they left the land of Avalon, there was further pain and trial. The fatal cut from Excalibur would have been Killian’s death; he had been resigned to it, had lived much longer than he’d ever been meant to and begged Emma to let him go. But the threat of losing her pirate – her reason to finally open her heart again and let herself fully live – caused Emma to make a tragic mistake. The temptation that had finally broken her resistance and blackened her soul after all her desperate struggle and restraint was bending the laws of nature to keep him alive and at her side. His angel fell to the need to save him, to not lose one more person who loved her and allowed her to love – to feel – in return. And when she crumbled, it drug him into the pit along with her. Harsh words and rage, bitten into blades that wounded and scarred, passed between the True Loves who then shared the worst Darkness the realms had ever known.

  
Yet, after the torture, the fire, and one more crippling separation, they found the way back to each other. Exhausted, battered, but hand-in-hand, after traveling to the very Underworld itself and defying the lord of that domain, in the end even death could not part the Savior and her captain forever. When they finally stole a moment upon their return – tripping tangled together up the front steps of the house that Killian and Henry had chosen by the dim light of the stars on a chilly May night in Storybrooke, Emma was so sleepy she was nearly punch drunk in her pirate’s grasp as he barely managed to catch her before she fell onto the wooden porch. Both of them were chuckling lightly, blearily only half awake, but so glad to be alone together and safe, at least for a moment, that anything else could wait. It had been a long time coming, and the austere hall and front room were somewhat haunted yet by their distorted alters’ presences and the barbs they had thrown, but they bypassed that silent space – it would keep for the morrow – to finally enter the bedroom they had always meant to share.

  
The peace which washed over Emma in that moment they fell together, sinking into the thick, cushy comforter, navy blue dotted by tiny white anchors she had chosen with him in mind, and the joy she felt at the sleep-muted delight on his face on first glimpse of them, was the most comfort she had felt since he stole her away on horseback that afternoon in Camelot. It seemed lifetimes ago now, though she could still feel the pink petals of the Middlemist flower he had handed her in that green haven and the sun slanting down on their faces as they had kissed.

  
She realized then that though there was healing still to be done, they had once more reached the place of hope they had found amidst the dazzling field of blooms and golden light. There was the promise of forever in that hazy remembered moment, with the white dress and cape, the wind in her hair, the kiss that had swept her up in delight. Though the sky had been their only witness, Emma had felt her heart blend irrevocably with his in that moment, and there in their home by the sea, weeks or months later, so jarring and confused she hardly knew which, as he pulled the sheet and blankets up to her chin before huddling beneath them with her and hoping to banish the world outside, it felt as if they were finally going to enjoy the vow that had been made between them in that fairytale scene rose-tinted in her mind’s eye. With Killian at her back, arms wrapped around her so that hand and hook could rest upon her skin, and his nose nuzzled warmly at the nape of her neck, at long last Emma finally slept.


	38. On the Same Page of the Script

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This was my first entry to the CS Fic Exchange a year or so back; I hope it’s alright and works as what they were going for. I went with the part of the prompts that said: “Did you just quote [insert movie of your choice]?” as my inspiration. It’s maybe a bit more naughty fun than I usually write, but still nothing that should earn it above a T rating, I don’t think. Nothing a still fairly newly married couple very much in love and attracted to each other wouldn’t get up to… ;)  
> I obviously don’t own them. Enjoy, and let me know what you think if you have a moment!

 

She senses his presence in the room; the hairs on the back of her neck prickle anticipating his inevitable touch, even before she spots him walking up behind her stealthily.  From where Emma Swan, now Jones, sits at her mirrored vanity table in their home’s master bedroom, it seems that her husband stalks across the floor as silently as a panther closing in on its prey, and with every bit as much magnetic power in his blue stare when he eyes meet hers hypnotically in the reflection.  She couldn’t move if she tried.

When he stands just behind her, the heat that always radiates off him warms her back through the silky dressing gown she put on after her bath while doing her hair and makeup.  He is so close that her shoulder blade practically brushes his hipbone when she raises her hand to offer him the crystal teardrop earrings she plans to wear to tonight’s event.  To her great amusement, in the nearly seven months they have been married, Emma has learned that Killian Jones is almost endlessly fascinated with the various accoutrements she uses to dress up for formal occasions –whether it is the pirate in him who appreciates the glitter and jewels of shiny baubles, or the insanely too-good-to-be-true romantic, that makes him value everything about her and want to be involved in whatever she’s focused on – be that fighting the latest monster villain or fastening a difficult necklace clasp she can’t quite get with her clumsy thumbs.  Either way, he is already reaching out for the offered article. Once Killian takes the earring, his touch lingers well beyond his getting a grasp on the delicate piece of jewelry, knowing what he does to her as her breath flutters rapidly in her throat and the pads of her fingers feel warm enough from his irresistible heat that she almost jerks back feeling scalded.

Smirking shamelessly, Killian bends to place his lips right next to her ear, after slipping the post into her piercing and carefully affixing the earring’s back to perfection.  “You’re a vision, Love,” he murmurs, soft lips brushing the shell of her ear as he does. His gaze slides up seductively to meet hers in the mirror once more, knowingly smoldering as he continues, taking his attentions from simple admiration to sinful temptation. Tracing just the tip of his wicked tongue up her jawline, he pauses momentarily to mouth playfully at the adornment he has just secured before biting down on her earlobe, exactly hard enough to make her gasp, neurons firing through her brain in shocked arousal.  Killian hums low in his throat, pleased with himself at her reaction, Emma is sure.  She can’t help herself, nearly panting with the desire her husband has suddenly awakened. 

Her pirate draws away just far enough to brush his nose along her hairline before purring scandalously, “What say you, wife?  Shall we take a moment to properly enjoy ourselves before finishing preparations for the Queen’s soiree?”

Offering her his hand to help her up, and clearly meaning to lean her toward their bed, Killian’s dark brow arches in comically blatant proposition.  Seeing him so certain of her helpless acquiescence however, raises the obstinacy in Emma’s own nature and strengthens her determination to resist him this time.  She’s up to the challenge.

Her green eyes practically crackle with merriment when she shakes her head and his face falls, stunned, as she chirps breezily (though it _is_ a concerted effort to do so and seem unaffected), “Sorry, Babe, hold that thought.  We don’t have time.”

She almost giggles as she pushes her seat back from the vanity table and stands, purposely brushing against his body closely as she moves around him toward their closet where her dress hangs waiting  - the way his mouth falls open is that ridiculously satisfying, after all the times he has melted her to putty in his one, very capable, hand.

Her husband isn’t quite through however; catching her hand and halting her before Emma can make her clean getaway, Killian ‘tsks’ with a mock disappointed expression before tilting her chin up so her eyes have to meet his as he adds, putting just the inflection necessary on the word he intends to accentuate. “Come now, Lass,” he chides.  “I know you much too well for that charade.  It’s quite _inconceivable_ that you would leave me wanting like this…and deprive yourself in the process.”

Emma shoots a look at him over her shoulder, smirking sardonically as if to sass back about how overly assured he is.  Arching a brow, all she says aloud is a pointedly casual, “Really, Killian?  It’s not that ‘inconceivable’ if we want to be on time. Regina may be a lot more agreeable these days, but I still don’t need to intentionally test her patience.”

Killian snorts a huffed little laugh of surprised disagreement, probably thinking – as Emma does briefly too – how her mostly reformed step-grandmother had just last week nearly barred them from Robyn’s first birthday party, despite taking the cake they’d fetched for her, which was (mostly) the reason for their tardiness in the first place, and come close to slamming the door of her mansion in their faces instead.  He lets her step on by him further into their room, but then his words stop her once more, catching Emma somewhere between surprised disbelief and humored acceptance.  “Lobbing my words back at me, I see,” he husks.  “I don’t think that word means what you think it does…”

Emma can’t help but turn to stare at him now, studying his handsome face, which somehow manages to project guileless innocence before she asks suspiciously, “Did you just quote _The Princess Bride_ to me?” Some part of her flushes, wondering just how long he has been aware of the oddball classic, if he had known even back in the swelteringly tense environment of Neverland’s jungle.  Secretly, she almost hopes he had known, though logically there was no way for it to be possible.  Clearly, Henry has been continuing her pirate’s cinematic education on the sly when she can’t be present – and though she wishes she could have seen his reaction to one of her favorites, she loves that he clearly enjoyed the film enough to memorize lines for later use.

He doesn’t admit to anything, but the mischievous twinkle in his eyes is all the proof she needs.  Shaking her head at him, Emma starts for the closet once more, urging him to hurry his own preparations, even as she quite purposefully puts an extra sway in her hips as she does so, simply for his benefit.

“As you wish,” he purrs, knowing exactly what he is saying now, and reveling in the little gasp that escapes her lips as she freezes where she stands.  “Pretend that you’re unaffected and have not a care in this world but the town’s New Year’s celebration and the ire of our formidable mayor.  I’ll play your game…for now.”  He pauses – she swears merely for dramatic effect – while her skin tingles from the timbre of his voice alone.  “Of course,” he continues, “I realize now that everyone else knew my feelings for you long before you admitted yours in return, but you’re wondering if I spoke them to you even earlier, aren’t you?  Before I was even aware of what I had done…?”

Emma turns, staring at him in equal parts exasperation, curiosity, and frankly, with flat-out desperate _want._ How had she ever resisted this man?  She cocks her head once she knows she has his attention, tiny smile curving her lips, as she angles to turn the tables on him just one more time.  She gives herself the knowing and seductive tone when she answers, “Clearly,” with a definite nod of her head. She voices the single word as both a tease and an invitation, beckoning for him to follow her as she subtly alters her course from the closet toward the bed.  They can spare a few minutes, and she knew that all the time.  Who has she been fooling anyway?

Killian’s indrawn gulp of air as she deftly shrugs the robe from her shoulders and it slips with a smooth _swoosh_ of silk to the floor is exactly the reaction she anticipates, and Emma grins at the sound of his urgent footsteps on the carpet behind her.  Just before he reaches her, sweeping her into his arms and toppling them both over onto their mattress, she gets the last word.  “After all, we all know now what ‘as you wish’ really means.”


	39. With Whipped Cream and Cinnamon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was my contribution to the 2018 CS January Joy celebration over on Tumblr. I have to admit, I struggled with this and tried way more than one prompt. For one thing, I had a hard time not getting a little angsty with whatever I tried, and for another, I psyched myself out. I was excited and glad that more people than usual might see my story, but also afraid they might not like it and wonder why I was included in the group. Anyway, I ended up with this: a modern non-magic AU making liberal use of the coffee shop trope, which I have wanted to try writing for some time. Hope you enjoy!!

            Her shop had been busy – packed, hectic, overwhelming even – from the moment she opened that morning at 6:00 and the bell had rung with the first customer passing through the door.  Though Emma Swan was always glad when business boomed (she did have rent, bills, and a six-year-old to raise single-handedly), she was short staffed today, as well as short on sleep and trying to fight off a doozy of a cold simply by denying its existence. Even well past the lunch crowd and after hours of constant motion, there was little change in the long line ahead of she and Ashley, her one employee available and helping out at present.  It was enough to have Emma seriously thinking if it didn’t break soon, she was going to collapse.  She knew she really had no business being at work at all, much less hovering over peoples’ drinks, but she also didn’t have enough reliable help, her shop was still new and getting off the ground, and she really couldn’t afford to take a day off with no money coming in.  Glancing to the side where Ashley was ringing out the customer she’d helped last, while brushing an escaped lock of blonde hair off her forehead and blowing out a quick, short breath, Emma steeled herself to dive back into the fray.  She shot Ashley a quick, hopefully encouraging smile and nod before steaming more milk for lattes, and reminded herself that they would eventually catch up – they always did – and to be grateful for the revenue.

            Through the general hum and scuffle of customers waiting, those already served chatting at their tables, and the machinery and utensils she and her co-worker were wielding, Emma heard the bell over the entrance announce yet another arrival.  She glanced up in spite of herself, even knowing this newcomer was just adding to their backlog, then sucked in her breath so sharply that it set off another coughing fit in her increasingly stuffy chest, eyes widening in surprise and intrigue.  It was him!  He was back again!  Said gentleman looked up just then, either hearing her loud coughs or sensing her eyes on him, and his gaze warmed slightly with an almost concerned look, before he seemed to catch himself, give his head a slight shake, and slipped into the order line.

            Trying not to react visibly, Emma returned to the task before her, moving back and forth behind the counter in a well-practiced rhythm with Ashley, making half a dozen drinks and trying all the time to contain the small smile pulling at her lips and not to look suspiciously excited.  The guy – who was the very definition of effortlessly dark and handsome, even if Emma usually prided herself on not noticing such things – had been coming in fairly often for the last couple of weeks.  Usually at around the same time, ordering the same drink, and quietly finding one of the booths toward the back to settle in, seemingly enjoying the ambience and cozy bustle for a couple hours of his afternoon.  There had been a few instances when his insanely blue eyes – they were almost unreal, Emma swore to herself – had found hers over the espresso machine and the heads of customers between them, and her intriguing stranger had never failed to offer a kind, genuine smile, the sort that – if she would have allowed it – could melt a woman’s insides to mush; yet he had never approached her beyond placing his order upon arrival, never offered up any of the irritating or insulting come-ons often lobbed her way.  As time went on and he still hadn’t done so, it had only made Emma all the more curious.  This man was different somehow, and that coupled with the cerulean gaze, dark scruff on a solid, sharp jawline, and his increasingly regular presence couldn’t help but become genuine interest as well.

            Finally, at nearly three when Ashley went off the clock to pick up her young daughter from preschool, foot traffic had begun to slow down to normal. There were still a couple of customers every little while, but it was much calmer than the ongoing rush they had been handling, and nothing that Emma couldn’t manage on her own.  Taking advantage of the long-awaited lull, Emma began to take stock of what items needed refilling and tidied up at bit, gathering a breath as well, now that she finally had a chance.  She could feel the clammy sensation of sweat drying on her skin which she could only hope hadn’t come from a fever but merely the hectic pace she’d been keeping up, and trying to ignore the warmth she felt when she briefly touched the back of her hand to her forehead.

            Sighing, she made her way to the station set up just a bit down from the entrance where creamer, sugar, sweeteners, napkins, and stir sticks were housed, and was replenishing items that had been nearly depleted and wiping up spills, when an unsettling and sudden wave of dizziness flared to life powerfully in her head.  Spots swam giddily across her vision, as her hand shot out almost blindly to grab the countertop she had been cleaning. Swaying lightheadedly on her feet, Emma pressed her eyes closed and tried desperately to steady herself, knees week and her hold on consciousness shaky.  She had never fainted before – hated the very thought of that sort of defenselessness – but she was afraid it was about to happen for the very first time.

            That was the moment she felt a firm grasp at her waist, gently cradling her at either side and keeping her from toppling over as she had feared.  “Easy there, Lass,” a soft, accented voice murmured, close behind her and almost in her ear.  “Take a moment, before you keel over on us, Love.”

            A part of her – the oft-abandoned, self-sufficient and stubbornly guarded piece – immediately bristled at the ‘Love’ endearment, especially in the ridiculously low, raspy tone it was offered, and at the idea that some guy thought he was going to swoop in and play hero, but another, more sadly neglected part of her seemed to be surfacing through her hazy, cold-induced state, and found her wanting to lean back into her savior’s warm, sturdy present and let someone else support her for just a second. Blinking owlishly, she bit back the “not your Love” retort that she felt on the tip of her tongue and turned just enough to see that the person steadying her was none other than her dark-haired mystery man.

            “You,” she said blearily and then winced internally at her own decidedly awkward slip of the tongue.  _‘Smooth, Emma,’_ she thought to herself with a huff of frustration, as she shakily put a hand on his forearm, still wrapped around her midsection carefully and attempted to stand up straight under her own power again.  Pausing cautiously until she was sure her surroundings weren’t spinning anymore and she was steady on her feet, Emma then managed to take a step back and really look up into that sapphire gaze properly.  “I mean,” she tried again, stumbling over her words, but trying to sound a little more grateful and a little less overwhelmed, “Thank you.  That could have been really embarrassing.”  Swiping a strand of hair escaped from her ponytail off her forehead once again, she held out a hand to shake his and added, “I’m Emma, owner of Swan’s Sweet Drinks and Treats.”

            He chuckled lightly, sensing her need to regain her equilibrium and taking a slight step back as well.  His gaze didn’t leave hers though; humor, care, and obvious interest all simmering in the depths of those bottomless eyes as he offered her a crooked smile. “You’re more than welcome.  Killian Jones, at your service.”  He winked playfully and then reached forward to take her outstretched hand in his larger one, enclosing strong, calloused fingers around hers warmly and igniting something in Emma that made her breath go thready all over again.  It was as though the moment their fingers clasped around each other, sparks went shooting outward through her veins and down the length of her arm. 

            Killian’s eyes widened across from hers, looking every bit as startled as she did, but he didn’t pull away or let go, as Emma immediately panicked and fought not to do.  If anything, he seemed to lean in closer, as if trying to assure himself he hadn’t imagined whatever they were both feeling.  “Lass, did you just feel…?” he started, pausing abruptly to lick his lower lip, as if he had to prepare to ask the rest of his question.

            Emma didn’t wait for him to start again though, she dropped her hand from his and turned anxiously, hoping to keep her balance without another spate of dizziness and make a quick getaway.  She didn’t know what had just happened, and she didn’t want to be rude. This seemingly kind and handsome stranger _had_ just kept her from falling flat on her fanny on the spilled drink sticky floor, after all.  But whatever that current she’d just felt between them was, it wasn’t normal.  She’d never experienced anything like that.  And though she didn’t scare easily, that powerful wave of emotion…connection…familiarity – whatever it had been – was _terrifying._ “I…uh…um…I need to get back,” she stuttered, gesturing vaguely back toward the espresso machine and cash register, though everyone had been helped and there were no new customers waiting.  She just had to get away, put some distance between them.  “Thanks again.”

            He was quicker than she’d bargained for, however, and reached out easily to place a hand on her shoulder, halting her motion without force, but somehow exerting just the right touch to make her pause and turn back to face him again.  “Wait, wait, slow down, Emma,” he said, his voice gentle, cajoling, as one might speak to a frightened animal ready to bolt.  Still moving slowly, easily, his hand slid from her shoulder all the way back down to her hand, and taking it cautiously, he led her over to the table he had obviously vacated in haste when he saw her wavering on her feet.  “You need to sit for a spell.  Not five minutes ago, you almost passed out and now you’re trying to run off at full speed again.”

            Clearly he was skirting around the obvious electricity they had both felt, and Emma was glad for that, but there was just enough determined concern in his voice to let her know he wasn’t going to back down.  At least not until she explained the situation…  “Look, Killian, I’m glad you caught me and all.  It was nice of you to make sure I was alright, but I’ve got a lot to do.  I’m the only one working right now, we could have another rush at any time, and there’s more that needs…”

            “Hey hey, shh, shh,” he interrupted, the soothing lilt of his voice overriding the offense she wanted to take at his talking over her and trying to tell her what she needed.  She’d never had parents, and she certainly didn’t need some guy – no matter how attractive – thinking she need taking care of now.  “What you _need_ to do is stay off your feet for a bit.  I’ll wash up properly, throw on an apron, and man the station for a while if more customers come in.  Admit it, Love.  You really ought to be home in bed, if not at the doctor’s office, but since you clearly aren’t having that, at least take a fifteen minute break and catch your breath.”

            Emma spluttered and huffed indignantly for a few seconds, not sure how to respond to that. None of what he said was wrong, no matter how much she wanted to argue, but nothing very convincing made its way into speech. “What do you think you’re… I mean, do you think I’m just… Do you even know how to make espresso drinks?  I can’t have just anybody back there breaking the machinery or getting burnt, you know.”

            The serious look that had covered Killian Jones’ face morphed into a playfully flirtatious one with impressive ease.  He waggled the dark eyebrows that crowned those stunning light eyes with almost ridiculous expression before retorting.  “Oh, just give me a chance, Swan.  I think you’ll find I’m a man of many talents.”

            She almost gasped at the way she saw his tongue poke into his cheek after that last statement and the deep resonance of his words almost echoing through her.  She managed a nod and tried not to giggle nervously as he left her seated at the table he’d claimed and practically strutted over to the work station, looking back over his shoulder at her with a playfully self-satisfied grin.  “Yeah, yeah,” she scoffed, only half grumpily, “you win for now.  Just try not to break anything.”

~~~~~******~~~~~~

            That was how at closing time an hour later, Emma found herself behind the counter once more, but now working side-by-side with one startlingly efficient and skilled Killian Jones.  There hadn’t been that many more customers since she’d nearly taken her tumble, but after the break he’d insisted on her taking, he had kept filling orders when they came, seemingly enjoying himself and with a talented flair for it as well.  Emma had forced her way back to work against his further protests, but was able to finish cleaning up, restocking, and even total out the register to actually close on time, thanks to his help. 

            Henry was to have supper and start his homework at the sitter’s that night so she still had a bit of time.  Turning to Killian from the door she had just locked and flicking off the neon “Open” sign, she smiled at him in genuine gratitude, not really sure that a simple “Thank You” was quite enough. There was still a buzz of crackling tension between them, that electric something, though they had worked together and made a surprisingly good and comfortable team.

            Yet, when she made her way back to where he stood expectantly waiting on her, Emma saw that he still had one more surprise in store. “Your chosen drink, Milady,” Killian offered huskily, sliding one of their to-go cups across toward her, his eyes locked on her face with a waiting and hopeful expression.

            “My chosen drink?” she repeated, then looked down to see the flawless peak of whipped cream and dash of cinnamon she adored crowning his offering, and a single whiff of the concoction told her it was hot chocolate – her favorite. “How did you…?” she started to ask before trailing off, amazed.  Wherever this Killian Jones had come from into her life, whatever this sense for what she needed that he seemed to possess, she simply wasn’t going to question it.  For once, she was just going to enjoy something in her life being right.

            Killian grinned widely, a sparkle in his eyes that Emma decided she adored right there and then.  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he taunted.

            She smirked, bending to sip the warm chocolate drink and sweet, creamy topping.  She swallowed hard; both enjoying that first taste and vowing to herself not to run.  She met his eyes and answered playfully back, “Maybe I would.”


	40. Melted Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a Valentine’s Day fic that didn't get posted until Valentine's was practically over, but I still like it - both for some fun holiday fluff, and for my entry in the CS Fic Exchange over on Tumblr for Prompt #4. I haven’t used every part, but I have worked in the: candy hearts, rain, high winds, or other weather events, and the dialogue: “On a scale from one to irreconcilable differences on divorce papers, how much do you think (character) will mind if…?”  
> I don’t think there’s much else you need to know to enjoy this little one shot. Though I would have loved to see more of our pirate and princess in another season of OuaT, I’m having a good bit of fun imagining their happy beginning in a normal Storybrooke without the constant danger and upset – not to mention reading what everyone else sees for them as well! Imagine this is sometime not so far past the end of season six, but before Henry takes off on his own, since he is clearly still here and happy with Violet.

“No, no, no!” Emma Swan moaned in sheer disgruntled reluctance, already knowing it _was_ as bad as she feared; her forehead coming to rest against the steering wheel of her Bug where her hands were still clenched tightly.  “Tell me this isn’t happening!”

The sudden rainstorm pelted down on the roof and against the windows; the downpour making her feel all the more hemmed in as the car tilted slightly in the sucking mud where they had swerved blindly off the road just enough to get stuck in the ditch, the left rear wheel sinking slowly in the mire where it was caught. The only thing that kept her from actually crying out in frustration was the feel of her husband’s curved appendage coming to rest on her shoulder, the comforting weight rubbing gentle circles into her tensed muscles in a soothing fashion.

“Come now, Love,” Killian murmured, bending to peer into her eyes as best he could with the way she had bent over the wheel and was petulantly avoiding his pretty blue eyes.  “It can’t be all that bad, can it?”

She gave him a narrow-eyed glare as she sat up to face him, but still heaved a dejected sigh.  If she looked at that concerned, adoring gaze too long, she wouldn’t even have her anger to hold onto.  “Well, pardon me,” she grumped, only half teasing.  “In case you hadn’t noticed, the car’s stuck, and there’s a literal monsoon going on outside, so it’s not great, no.”

As if in agreement with her words, the VW gave a creaking sort of settling moan, listing even more to the left once again, and Killian offered her a sheepish grin and half-shrug in recognition of her point.  “Well,” he offered hopefully, holding up the plastic shopping bag from their quick run to the next town over, “at least we won’t starve.”  He paired his words with a playful quirk of his brow, and for a fleeting moment it was all Emma could do not to burst out in a fit of giggles at his antics, the ridiculousness of the whole situation and the sudden storm blown up out of nowhere, despite all her previous frustration.

Shaking her head, she looked over at him in disbelieving amusement before responding sarcastically.  “You just had to have those particular candy hearts, didn’t you?”

“I _did_ promise them to Henry.  After all the effort he went to in writing those verses for the young Lady Violet, it seemed a shame to deny him the finishing touch he requested.  They were out of stock at the Dark Star, and so I truly had no other recourse.  Though, whilst we are on the subject, why any of us frequent the pharmacy of a dwarf who has had a cold as long as I have known him is beyond me.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Emma snarked back tartly, “we’ve got bigger problems now.”

“Aye, Darling, I can see that,” Killian acceded with a grudging nod, knowing he was the more optimistic member of their duo and clearly therefore hated to acknowledge defeat and the negative until it couldn’t be helped.  Still, things had clearly reached that point, as a jarring crack of thunder chose that moment to rattle the car’s windows in their frames and a jagged streak of lightning blossomed in the sky, highlighting the tension on both their faces.

Licking his lips as if gathering himself for a difficult question before plowing ahead, Killian ventured a still somewhat hopeful glance across the center console to meet hers and asked.  “I don’t supposed your magic could unstick us from this predicament?”  But the words were barely uttered before he trailed off, chagrined at the embarrassed and regretful look on his wife’s face.

Emma shook her head mournfully, blaming herself already for whatever the issue might be. “I thought so too,” she replied softly, offering up her hands, palms turned up and lying open, “but it isn’t working.  Whatever command I try to send doesn’t seem to be having any effect.  My magic is as on the fritz as our phones and the radio seem to be.”  Letting her hands drop again dejectedly into her lap, Emma sent Killian an apologetic look and huffed out addition of, “I know, right? What good is having magic anyway, if it can’t get us out of a jam like this?  Some Valentine’s date I turn out to be!”

Killian was quick to shake his head in disagreement, reaching over to pick Emma’s hands up again and pull them toward where he bent his dark head over them to press chaste, worshipful kisses into the center of both palms, lingering as if merely to inhale her scent and be nearer to her.  “Emma, none of that now, my Lass,” he finally whispered against her skin, his lips petal-soft and his nose skimming along the life line that curved across her upper palm before the stubble that covered his chin and jawline began to tickle her sensitive skin.  Raising his eyes to look at her over their entwined fingers, he barely breathed his next words aloud, and yet Emma felt them reverberating all the way down to her toes.  “You are a bloody brilliant woman, amazing in every way, and the best Valentine any man could hope to have.  I would want a date with no other, and I am lucky to call you my wife.  Don’t you ever doubt that,” he swore fervently.

Emma’s smile was a bit tremulous, even as she tried not to get tearfully emotional on top of everything else.  She nodded rapidly at Killian, as he clearly expected her promise not to sell herself short or to beat herself up for things beyond her control.  She didn’t really trust her voice to be steady, but the warmth he had sent spreading through her insides was a heartening as bright sunshine on a summer’s day – the opposite of the wet grey pelting against the glass beside them.

Sniffling only slightly, she leaned over the console inconveniently stuck between them to bury her face in his chest, allowing his arms to wrap around and hold her close.  After several calming moments like that, Emma realized that things could honestly be much worse.  The rain – torrential flood strength though it might be – was outside, not leaking in anywhere, and they were still warm and dry.  It was peaceful here in her little old car, and they were blessedly alone; something that rarely happened, emergency or no.  No one was asking for their attention or even about to come looking for them and interrupt their moment together, not in the midst of such a cold, windy mess.  The location might not have been the ideal she’d had in mind, but they were together at least, and undisturbed, two things that might not have happened for them otherwise, even on Valentine’s Day.

Mumbling against Killian’s skin, but unwilling to pull away just then, Emma spoke up with a bit more good humor to ask, “So, on a scale from one to irreconcilable difference on divorce papers, how much do you think Henry would mind if we tore into that bag of candy hearts?”  She looked up at her pirate husband with an impish glimmer in her eyes.  “If we’re going to ride this storm out here instead of making our dinner reservations, I’m going to get hungry, aren’t you?”

Killian smirked back at her, pleased with the turn in mood and more than willing to play along.  “Oh, I don’t know, Swan, he seemed pretty adamant that Violet had to see these.  But…I _have_ grown on the lad.  I don’t believe he would order me cast off at this first minor offense.”

She shook her head at his comeback, chortling at the impressive vocabulary he managed to employ even in jest, and began to rummage through the shopping bags for their plunder.

“However,” Killian said as he withdrew a small gift bag from somewhere inside his jacket, where Emma could only assume he had managed to hide it without her noticing sometime between the checkout and when they got in the car to head home, his voice temptingly low and eyebrow cocked invitingly. “If we do mean to break out our loot, I might have something for you that is a bit more appealing than those neon-colored, word-bedecked sugar cubes.”  His tongue swept over his lower lip seductively as he watched her reaction, and Emma found herself reaching out to take the gift almost disjointedly, her movements slowed a bit at the stunned, blind attraction he could kindle in her at a moment’s notice.

When she tipped the bag upside down to free a boxed heart-shaped chocolate as large as her fist and wrapped in metallic foil, Killian continued with his honeyed words.  “I thought you deserved something solid gold, Love.  More reminiscent of your heart.  Even if your real present is back at the house,” here he paused for dramatic effect, his eyebrows dancing merrily with barely restrained mischief, “I couldn’t resist when I saw this.”

“Flatterer,” Emma admonished, her cheeks warming as she used a nail to begin loosening the thick tape holding the box closed and pry it open.  “How much of that poem for Violet did Henry write, and how much of it was your suggestion?”

“A gentleman never tells,” Killian replied archly, as though he would never dream of divulging such sacred information, to Emma’s snort of disbelief. 

She got the packaging open with a bit more finagling, only to find that being pressed against her pirate’s always warm body had made one side of the chocolate heart go a bit softly melted.  Making no comment, Emma tried to hold back the evil smile she felt creeping across her face.  Peeling back the golden wrapper enough to get to the treat, she stuck her fingers in and then pulled back quickly, chocolate all over her fingertips, to smear the gooey delicacy across Killian’s chin and down his neck with a devious squeal of triumph.

“Hey now! What -- ?” but Killian’s squawk of protest is overcome rather rapidly by the desperate growl that echoed through his chest when Emma darted in quickly to suck the chocolate residue from his chin and lick up the remnants marked down his neck.

It didn’t take her Captain long to retaliate, and soon they were both sticky, panting, and the treat meant to tide them over until they got out of their fix was mushed into their hair, over their faces and hands, and across much of both their outfits.  Still, Emma couldn’t find it in herself to mind.  They celebrated Valentine’s Day together amidst a rainstorm, in kisses, giggles, and melted chocolate.  No fancy dinner or dancing marked the occasion, but she did laughingly educate her Old World husband on what else could traditionally be done in a car stopped in the deserted middle of nowhere.  As holiday revelry went, neither one of them would have celebrated it any other way.


	41. Sky's Canvas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I toyed with the idea for this one for quite some time. The prompt elements that I have used are: a museum, the phrase “it was just a joke”, and also some small art facts – mostly about the particular museum itself (which is real). I have also put in a CS daughter (my personal head canon imagined one, Morgan Ruth Jones, whom I have written about before), and a college aged Henry. So, this is set somewhere in an alternative post-season 6 reality, where Henry stays in the Land Without Magic to seek his story, and also to be close enough to visit his family often, and for them to return the favor…)  
> I don’t own any of them – clearly! ;p – but I would love to hear what you think of this little story! Enjoy!

The bubbly, nonstop chatter of her four-year-old little girl, which has cheerfully been filling Emma Swan’s ears for the past hour and a half, suddenly stills, immediately grabbing her attention and setting off an interior maternal alarm. She turns to seek out Morgan Ruth Jones – her little pirate princess – wondering if her daughter has yet again managed to sneak away from them and find herself in some sort of trouble.

Luckily, Emma doesn’t have to look far before she hears a chortling trill of baby laughter and locates her toddler with the disheveled head of dark, ringlet curls and twinkling, mischievous eyes – an aquamarine mix of her own green gaze and her father’s ocean blue – standing before a huge oil painting of a Spanish galleon rocking precariously on the stormy main and looking up at her father with fixed adoration. “Really, Papa?” Emma hears Morgan chirp, practically bouncing on the balls of her little feet as she tugs anxiously at his hook in eagerness to hear his answer. “Was it a storm that big you sailed ‘Roger’ through when you went to save Henwy in Neverland?!”

Emma is just chuckling wryly at the changes which have transpired in her life to give her a little girl more interested in daring adventures, ancient naval ships, and sword fighting than frilly dresses or dolls and makeup, even as her husband raises his eyes just enough to smirk at her knowingly over Morgan’s head, when another voice, youthful, warm, and settling into its masculine, adult timbre, answers Morgan’s question from over her shoulder, announcing Henry’s arrival to join them. “It was bigger, Pipsqueak,” he confirms jovially, pausing briefly to wrap a wiry arm around his mom in a quick side-hug before continuing to the side of his younger half-sister, kneeling to her level and adding with a gleam in his eye, “A mermaid summoned it to drown them all.”

“Hen-wy!!” Morgan squeals with glee; the painting, and even her papa’s beloved ship, forgotten as she flings herself into her brother’s arms with enough force to nearly bowl him over, causing Henry to chuckle as he catches her close to his chest.

“Hey Munchkin,” he greets affectionately, standing to his full height again – now even with his stepdad’s – still holding Morgan, her arms wrapped around his neck so tightly that Emma has to wonder if she’s ever going to let go. Turning to include his mom and his surrogate father in his next statement, Henry adds. “It’s great to see you all. Things must be quiet in Storybrooke, if you’re still going to stay all weekend.”

Here he arcs an eyebrow in curious bemusement, a trait Emma realizes all too well that he has picked up from her dashing scoundrel of a husband and probably uses to equally charming effect on all the girls he meets in his freshman courses at Bowdoin College. It is clear he has settled easily into the small arts school in Brunswick, Maine, just under a two hours’ drive from them, and that the campus atmosphere and freeing anonymity and normalcy he has there must be agreeing with him. Emma wants to snort in disbelieving laughter at his jest, though well aware that he knows better than to ever think his hometown would go completely, boringly normal. Instead, she shakes her head resignedly, merely giving her grown son a playfully long-suffering sigh. “You know how it is,” she shrugs, “never a dull moment. But – if you don’t count the dwarves coming to blows at Granny’s the other morning because Tom Clark accidentally sat in Leroy’s spot at the counter and got his flu germs on Leroy’s plate of bacon and eggs…”

“Which I do count,” Killian interrupts smoothly, winking at his adopted son. “I am the one who risked infection from the virus in forestalling their skirmish.”

Emma rolls her eyes at her deputy husband’s interruption and mutters “drama queen” under her breath, which Henry and Morgan both clearly hear and snicker at before she continues, “Otherwise it’s been as quiet as it ever gets. No deathly dangerous villains or curses meant to tear us apart and wipe our memories blank.”

“Yet…” Killian adds on needlessly, an ominous tone in his voice acknowledging the fact that they all know it’s only a matter of time before some new threat is wreaking havoc again. Their sleepy little town might seem like a place lost in time and space, but it is still a veritable magnet for trouble, and none of them can deny it.

Killian, however, waggles his brows playfully after his foreboding aside, making Henry shake his own head at his stepfather. It had seemed a rather grim pronouncement for the reformed pirate – more like his mom, really.

Morgan grins widely back at her father, nodding in gleeful agreement, her gap-toothed smile showing where she has lost a fair few of her baby teeth recently. “Yeah…yet!” she exclaims, not fully understanding the concern behind the sentiment, but always ready – as is her entire extended family – for action and excitement.

Emma shakes her head in humored exasperation at her two “children” – wondering, as she often does, how someone who has seen and experienced as much as Killian, who has witnessed some of the worst humanity had to offer and suffered at their hands, who has lived so long and weathered such crushing heartbreak and hate, can still easily find such simple, child-like joy in the littlest things. “Really, guys?” she questions, looking to her college student son for more mature support. “Can’t we just enjoy things being normal for once?”

“Aye, of course, my Love,” Killian replies deftly. “ ‘Twas merely a joke,” he adds, leaning over to brush a quick kiss to her brow that makes Morgan giggle, hide her face in Henry’s shoulder, and cry out, “Eww, they’re kissing again!” in a frank, tickling whisper against her older sibling’s skin.

“Just a joke is right,” Henry declares, motioning them forward to venture on into the rest of the Bowdoin College Museum and toward the particular exhibit he wants them to see. The collection was an 1811 bequest from a wealthy benefactor to the school and was one of the earliest college art collections in the country, as Henry had enthusiastically told her over the phone some weeks ago when his project had commenced. His Maritime History class had done a cross-curriculum partnership with the arts department to put together a student exhibit of research and mixed media in the college’s museum, and Henry has been quite secretive about his entry, even if insistent that they needed to see it in person. “Like anyone could be around you lot for long and think you were normal!” he scoffs.

“Ha ha,” his mother laughs drolly, bumping into his side with her shoulder in playful retribution as they move ahead side-by-side, with Killian, who is now holding a wriggling Morgan once again, following closely behind. However, once the jostling ceases, Emma grasps her nearly-grown son’s hand in hers for a moment, stunned anew at how much he has changed from the little boy who had found her in Boston all those years ago, and led her into the very life she has now. Squeezing tightly with emotion welling up in her throat, she wishes he could truly understand how much she loves him.

“Missed you too, Mom,” Henry murmurs softly, pressing her fingers back with his own wrapped around them. It is more than enough and makes her heart flutter in gladness. 

Once Henry leads them through a few different rooms and several intriguing displays, he slows when they reach a large, somewhat circular room with a high, arched ceiling, and then turns to them with a mysterious smile on his face and clear anticipation in his big, brown eyes, just as they have always held, even at ten years old.

At first glance, this particular exhibit, this room in itself, seems empty. Looking around with faces equally full of curiosity and confusion, Killian, Emma, and Morgan end up staring back at Henry expectantly until Killian finally speaks up, “Begging your pardon, Lad, but I’m afraid I am not quite certain what you wish for us to see.”

Henry gives a nod of acknowledgement, rather knowingly pleased, and making Emma smirk to herself with a mother’s satisfaction at seeing her son so confidently happy and in his element. ‘He’s definitely got something up his sleeve,’ she thinks affectionately, admittedly finding herself anxious to see what his surprise might be. She knows that Henry has been loving this course all term – not to mention how thrilled her husband had been at the news – and that the long term practicum research projects are being showcased here throughout the entire month of April. Emma can only conclude that her son’s hard work has paid off in a way he’s proud of, and he must believe wholeheartedly that they will be too.

All Henry says is, “I take it you’re ready then?” and at Killian’s nod and Morgan’s “Yes, yes, YES, Henwy!!” exclamation, while she hops up and down exuberantly, he switches off the lights and presses a previously unnoticed button next to the light switch.

Immediately, the light and airy sound of some sort of flute or piccolo trickles through the quiet air of the room, a gently evocative melody with a lingering, haunted quality to its tone, enhanced by the sound echoing beneath of waves washing gently against the hull of some easily floating ship or back and forth over the shore of some deserted bay. Even as the sounds which are familiar and comforting to his tiny family audience wrap around them, small pinpricks of light appear just like stars in the night sky out on the ocean, sparking to life on the walls around them and the high ceiling overhead. It is a constellation spread out just for them in breathtaking majesty. Then, the Author begins to narrate his newest story…

Listening to Henry’s words, Emma feels her breath catch just a bit in both awe and emotion, glancing quickly over at her husband and daughter, before either of them realizes they are being observed. Morgan’s green eyes are wide and sparkling with interest and excitement, her mouth an open “o” as she looks above her, dazzled at what would appear for all the world to be the stars and constellations in the night sky brought indoors and spread out for their entertainment. Killian is silent and still, so much so that Emma knows – as few others would – just how valiantly he is battling some strong emotion…how very touched he is. Emma was never as great a student of the star charts and navigational astronomy as her sailor would have loved to make her, but Henry ate it right up, and she would bet her battered and beloved old VW that Henry has recreated some particular display that holds an extra meaning for he and his stepdad alone.

Shaking herself slightly to bring her focus back to earth and her attention back to the words of Henry’s presentation once more, she hears her son’s voice – soothing, engaging, and reeling her into the adventurous stories behind the scattered specks of light arrayed above them and their meaning and guidance to generations of sailors making their ways on a wide and pathless sea.

“The Cygnus,” Killian mouths silently beside her, appearing genuinely awestruck as he takes his gaze just momentarily from Henry’s representative “sky” to look in the eyes of the young man he has for years now cared for and loved like a son; a sincere gaze of fond understanding passing between them that brings a film of unshed tears to Emma’s vision that she has to rapidly blink away. In fact, soundless though it may be, she catches Killian’s comment only because she is so focused on her husband and his emotional reaction to this gift Henry has given all of them – but her pirate in particular. Emma senses that Killian knows it in this moment and holds tightly to his fingers twined with hers while practically beaming at her son, wondering again how she ever got lucky enough that the two most important people in her world would love each other as much as they each love her.

Morgan reaches over from Killian’s arms to pat her mother’s cheeks as Henry concludes his tale and turns the lights back up. “Don’t cry, Mama,” Morgan coos sweetly. “Henwy’s story was happy in the end. The Swan leads the sailor to his home.”

Emma smiles shakily at her daughter, and then the rest of her family with their looks of understanding. “I know, Baby,” Emma murmurs softly, still brushing away the evidence, but with her smile growing broader all the while. “Don’t worry. These are happy tears.”


	42. Reality and Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! This is a (quite possibly silly) bit of fluff that I dreamed up from my own ridiculous fondness for watching (even when I’m laughing at the craziness of it while I do!) “The Bachelor” and “Bachelorette”, and then wondering what in the world Killian Jones would make of this unbelievable drama we actually call “reality”. The rest just followed from there. It’s set roughly parallel to season seven, but where we get to see the newlywed pirate and princess set up their home together and enjoy another version of the domestic day-to-day that many of us would have enjoyed onscreen. Their little girl is on her way, but not yet born, and Henry is off searching for his own story. 
> 
> Obviously, I don’t own OuaT or any of its characters, nor would I ever claim to have a stake in “The Bachelor”/“The Bachelorette” franchise.

            “Swan! Swan!”

 

            Emma struggles not to snort through her nose as she picks up the two plates full of Chien Po’s China Kitchen takeout she has dished up for them.  They’ve already stuffed themselves on Crab Rangoon and Won Ton Soup anyway, but that doesn’t quell her desire for Sweet and Sour Chicken, nor will it stop her pirate from having at least half his new favorite carryout Beef and Broccoli (though he would swear up and down that preference was untrue if Granny Lucas were present). Lately, Emma could swear that she has become a bottomless pit in this her third trimester of pregnancy.  She can eat Killian under the table hands down, regardless of the food, but Chinese has been her go-to craving.

           

            She doesn’t even know yet what it is her captain wants to tell her, but the shock and almost affront in his tone lets her know ahead of time that it’s one of those gentleman fish-out-of-water, Land Without Magic things that still, almost two years into their marriage, manage to shock and baffle him. Clearly, leaving him to channel surf for their evening’s entertainment on the “magical picture box” as she dished up the main course has paid off in one way or another, if only for her momentary amusement.

 

            Entering the living room once more, a plate in each hand and curiosity – she’s sure – painted across her face, Emma is not at all surprised by the way Killian seems to snap to attention from the rapt focus he had been training on the television.  In seconds, he is on his feet and at her side, taking one plate from her and gently ushering her ahead of him back to the couch before which their drinks, utensils, napkins, and the demolished remnants of their appetizers are strewn across the coffee table.

 

            “My apologies, Love,” he murmurs, rubbing his nose along the bend of her neck and shoulder for just a moment, his warm breath ghosting over her skin bared by the boat neck sweater she is wearing and nearly making her drop her plate before she can put it down on their makeshift table and resettle in her seat.  She bites her own lip in her surprised jolt of excitement and almost turns to grab him around the shoulders and pull him back in for a proper taste of those full, irresistible lips – the food can wait after all – only for him to sit back from her on the couch, looking embarrassedly shamefaced.

 

            “What, Killian?” she asks, senses reeling and completely baffled, her hand settles on his bicep, grounding herself as well as letting him know he has her attention.  “What are you apologizing for?”

 

            Her adorable nerd of a husband gazes back up at her, a slight flush just barely visible through the unshaven scruff of his cheeks as those blue, blue eyes meet hers from beneath his dark lashes.  “For making you get up and fetch the main course alone.  You certainly are not my waitress, and I _was_ coming to help you – truly.  I could have sworn you’d been gone but a moment – I was right behind you! – and then this…this…bloody demon transfixed me once again.” He gestures at the tv vaguely before turning to sheepishly study her face for signs of annoyance.

 

            Emma can’t help but shake her head, half exasperated and half humored.  It would seem that as remarkable as her True Love is in so many other respects, he is every bit as susceptible to the gravitational pull of the television as any other man.  Reaching out playful fingers to brush aside the longer fringe that has flopped over Killian’s forehead, she then cups his cheek in her hand and pulls him to her easily, pressing a short, teasing kiss to the bridge of his nose.  “No worries,” she soothes with a genuine smile on her face as she meets his gaze.  “I’ve told you time and again that I may look the size of a house and like I shouldn’t be able to move, but being pregnant does not mean I can’t do anything for myself.”

           

            His mouth opens, about to argue that he means to wait on her hand and foot, no doubt, but she cuts him off with a shake of her head and a kiss to his mouth this time – which almost derails them completely, her low hum of pleasure in the back of her throat causing them both to dive deeper, pulled together like magnets before she finally leans away, sitting back in her own space once more.  “Besides, I’m the one who couldn’t wait another minute for her Sweet and Sour Chicken,” she adds, breaking the hold of his heated stare to spear one of the breaded poultry bites on her fork, dunk it in the pinkish-orange sauce, and quickly bring the morsel to her mouth.  After swallowing with pure satisfaction, she prompts, “So, what was it you wanted to tell me a minute ago? Something on the tv?”

 

            Killian jerks upright at that, eyes wide as he clearly remembers what had gotten him so up-in-arms mere moments ago.  Gesturing to their television’s screen, now advertising some sort of overpriced mop-and-broom-in-one wonder contraption, to which his eyes veer and Emma just barely stifles a giggle as her ridiculous neat freak almost loses his concentration once more to the advertisement’s hold.  But then, Killian focuses and looks at her in earnest outrage as he explains, “It was promotion for an upcoming program – one of those preposterous reality competitions.” The disdain dripping from his words would be enough to send Emma chuckling again, this time at how seriously he takes his evening programming, if she didn’t first press her lips together to forestall the outburst and then shove enough chicken in her mouth to keep busy chewing and not reveal how amused she is by the whole thing.

 

            Killian isn’t done though; in fact, he looks as if he would march right up to whatever powers-that-be control the network schedule, give them a piece of his mind and wave his hook under their noses for good measure, if he only knew where and how to find them.  He’s just gathering steam as he launches into the rest of his description.  “Apparently some single, mildly attractive bloke is set up in a mansion while several comely young lasses jostle to woo him and win his hand.  That has to be a mistake. Doesn’t it, Swan?  Why, the very premise is ludicrous.  He can’t date all of them at once!  Who would stand for that?!  They called it _‘The Bachelor’_ , but I must have it wrong.  No true gentleman bachelor would behave in such a manner – nor try it even, if he possessed a lick of sense…” However, his voice trails off at this point, eyes narrowing as he truly registers the expression now covering his wife’s face.  “Wait a minute… Emma, why do you look like that?”

 

            It’s her turn to blush brightly and unsuccessfully try to avoid his eyes, though it does no good and only tips him off further.  She had once been quite fond of _The Bachelor_ – not that she’d have ever thought to tell anyone about it by choice – but the overly dramatic, outlandish guilty pleasure had kept her company on her couch with a pint of Rocky Road ice cream in that lonely apartment in Boston as she unwound after a long skip chase or stakeout more nights than she could rightly count. “Well, I don’t know how many self-respecting gentlemen they really draw, but you’d be surprised what those ‘lovely young lasses’ as you put it, will stand for – and do – Killan.  It’s more intriguing than you’d think.”  This last is mumbled in a rush as she ducks her head and pretends to have difficulty getting an errant morsel of chicken onto her fork.  She isn’t necessarily ashamed of being a _Bachelor_ devotee at one point, and Killian wouldn’t judge her for it anyway, but she is abruptly struck by how absurd it all must seem to someone who comes from the place and time he does, and with the sense of honor which runs so deeply through his veins.  She flushes all over suddenly, floored by how blind she had been not that long ago, how little she had known back in those days on her own…just _how_ different it is when those feelings the show plays on – _when love itself_ – is True.

 

            Killian’s eyes bulge almost comically; she has to reach out to soothingly to pat his thigh, as he’s entirely too distraught for his own good.  “Emma, truly?” he asks, voice quieter but still almost aghast at the very concept.  “He dates all of them?!  The cad!! How can you watch such poor form, Swan?  It’s atrocious!”

 

            She grins mischievously at him, shrugging away her embarrassment and giving him a saucy wink.  “Look, it’s easier to just show you, alright?  Tonight’s Monday, so it will be on in…” she checks the clock above the fireplace, “about half an hour.  I’m guessing that’s what the commercial was about.  You can check out the season premiere for yourself, Pirate.”

 

            Her husband huffs indignantly as if he has no desire to do any such thing, but by the time eight o’clock has rolled around, he has finished his meal, taken both their plates back into the kitchen, brought her a bowl of the restaurant’s specialty pineapple sorbet for dessert, and settled into his place on the couch again, with her feet gathered in his lap.

 

            As the program starts, Emma points out various routine practices and occurrences on the show, explains how this or that usually works, and Killian seems grudgingly engrossed despite his nobler intentions.  When the appointed Bachelor flubs one of his prospective mates’ names at the cocktail party, Killian scoffs loudly enough to draw her attention. Glancing sideways, she challenges, “Think you could do better, do you? That’s a lot of names to keep straight!”

 

            Killian however doesn’t miss a beat, sliding his gaze across to capture hers with twinkling charm, “Any decent suitor has ways of holding onto those names which matter,” he counters smoothly, waggling his brows at her in flirtatious come-on.

 

            Emma does snort then, but at least partly to cover the way he makes her breath catch and her heart start beating faster. 

 

            Her husband is smart enough not to gloat at this, though he easily notices and reads her as well as ever, merely nodding with a secretive smile and gathering her close to his side as she leans over on him while they continue to watch.  When it reaches the stage where the chosen man is going on his first intimate date with one of the women and the pair onscreen are sharing a romantic candlelit dinner, Emma tilts her head to look up at her handsome husband, studying his beloved, scruffy profile and sliding her hand over his solid chest to slip under the typical, partially-unbuttoned collar and rest her palm tenderly against the warm, inviting skin right over his heart.  “So, a little more romantic than you figured, Captain?” she questions curiously.

 

            Killian chuckles lightly, giving a tiny bob of his head in acknowledgment, but when he turns to look back into her eyes, Emma sees clearly that he has not yet played his last card.  Reaching the bared stump of his left forearm, brace and hook long since removed this evening for comfort’s sake, to rest beneath her chin and gently turning her face to just the angle he is after, Killian bends to kiss her slowly, languorously, stealing her breath and every thought of reality dating, exotic locales, or winning their little debate from Emma’s mind.  When he does pull back, just enough for them to each draw a bit of air, their lips still only centimeters from each other, the low rasp of words he intones in that voice she can’t ignore sends shivers all the way down her spine. “Aye, my love, I do see the appeal.” He runs that devious tongue over his lower lip before going back to hers for another taste and nearly making her melt into the couch cushions beneath them. 

 

            At their next pause, he gathers her closer still, nuzzling his nose with hers, their foreheads resting against each other before he looks into her eyes seriously, his question now truly concerned, “But even so, people do not seriously think that a deep relationship can be formed in this way, do they?  Surely you would not have gone on a show like that?  Competed that way as if love were a wrestling match or choreographed script?”

 

            Emma tilts her head to the side as she considers his question, shrugging noncommittally when she answers, “Well, no, probably not.  I mean, I definitely didn’t think they were finding real love. But as a lark…who knows?  I mean, they got to travel, be pampered, live it up. It might have been fun.”

 

            “Fun, hmm?” Killian murmurs at her temple, his hand now gently resting on her swollen stomach, the warmth truly comforting, even as she knows he is about to challenge her again.  “Well, be that as it may, lass, luckily you are now married to an illustrious pirate captain fully aware of how to woo a lady and able to take you any place in this realm, or any other, on the fastest, most marvelous ship in existence.”

 

            Emma smiles up into his gorgeous face before resting her head on his shoulder and relaxing into his touch for the long haul.  “You’re forgetting the real difference that I finally understand,” Emma whispers to him lightly.  “Back then, I didn’t believe love existed anyway.  It didn’t matter if what they were selling on tv was a scam, because I didn’t think what we have was possible.  Just like you said in Neverland – not until I met you.”

 

            Killian’s pleased agreement rumbles in his chest, and Emma feels the vibrations pleasantly throughout her own body where she rests in his arms.  The fancy jewelry, ball gowns, televised proposals, and celebrity serenades they see before them on camera, none of that holds a candle to this man with whom she now shares her life and her home.

 

~~ ***~~

 

            And so, when Killian comes home from the station at dinnertime two nights later, and surprises her in the kitchen by kneeling before her and holding out a single yellow buttercup to match the bloom inked on her wrist, and asks if she will accept his token, Emma can hardly be surprised.  Nodding and grinning with perfect glee – and thinking how much prettier this simple flower that reflects her more than any red rose ever could – her smile feels as though it might split her face completely in half. Emma finds herself giggling as he stands and somehow manages to sweep her off her feet and spin her around, impressive baby belly and all.  “Well Love, since you have accepted this formerly hopeless bachelor’s proposal, you are entitled to the all-expense paid trip to the destination of your choice I’ve arranged.  We leave Saturday; anywhere you want to go, one more magical getaway before the little one arrives. It’s all taken care of.”

 

            Swept up in the romance and surprise of her husband’s plan, Emma Swan-Jones can only marvel at how her reality is so much better anything she could have imagined.

 

 


	43. Wake Me Up (Before You Go Go)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This is really and truly nothing but a small bit of fun fluff. Even the WHAM! song I appropriated the title from is just goofy and always makes me smile. I can’t help but imagine all kinds of just silly, everyday things for our married pirate and princess to be doing in Storybrooke parallel to season seven. There was a lot of rain when I started this last week, I pictured Killian waking Emma up in a way that got him into some mischief, and here we are…
> 
> I still don’t own them, but I do hope you enjoy! ;)

It had quickly become habit, once the Savior of Storybrooke and her pirate were married and set up house together, for Killian to rise early in the morning, have his coffee on their house’s open back porch overlooking their lawn running down to a rocky beach and beyond that the harbor, begin fixing breakfast for them all in time for Henry to partake before he headed off to school, and then to man the morning shift at the station.  To say that Emma was grateful for the chance to cuddle further beneath the covers in their huge, luxurious bed and sleep in, was quite the understatement, but she reveled in the opportunity all the same.

Not that she would want to take advantage of her new husband – she still felt a smile spread over her lips and a warmth throughout her limbs at being able to call him hers – but the crazy man genuinely seemed to enjoy his time puttering around by himself in their house, watching the sun rise and going about caring for his family – a natural “early bird” if ever there was one.  Beyond that, it stirred every fiber in her being as surely as the gentle rays of that rising sun filtering in through the white curtains at their windows, for Emma to lie still curled cozily in bed and hear the cheerful voices of her husband and son floating up from the kitchen directly below. Though she couldn’t make out their exact words, she basked in the joy and affection of their tones, which carried up the stairs to her waiting ears quite clearly.  Very little could top how much she loved hearing her two True Loves – her family, her whole little word – enjoying each other’s company so completely; laughing and joking, speaking of their plans for the day ahead as they rattled around; Henry setting three places at their tall kitchen island – they always left one set for her, so she was ready to eat once she came down for her own breakfast, just in time to see her son off and wish him a good day – and Killian finishing the pancakes, eggs, or whatever more creative delicacy he had prepared that morning and plated it up.  Emma could clearly picture them both munching bacon and talking amiably, Henry’s eyes lit with excitement as he shares the details of some story he’s writing, and her pirate’s eyes bright and attentive, giving her son all his focus in a way that Emma knows for a fact tells Henry just how much he matters to his stepdad, how Killian listens when he speaks as if Henry were the only person in the world.

As much as she did indeed love to sleep in, Emma in truth sometimes lingered in bed simply to give her two men their private few moments each morning; the father-son bonding an exquisite ache in her mother heart.  She knew how very lucky she had been, with Henry’s father lost to him, to have found a man who genuinely loved her son as his own – who had never hesitated to do so.  He was willing to risk his own life – throw himself between Henry and danger – even before they were ever fully a couple, or she had even given him certain indication that they would be.  He cared for Henry enough in his own right that he would have stepped back for Henry’s family to be whole if events had gone that way, and all of his own accord, Killian had given Henry memories of his father Neal at the boy’s own age, something Henry could hold to when the chance to know his father had been ripped away.  It meant more to Emma than she could ever truly articulate to Killian, though she had tried and felt he understood more than anyone else would have managed to grasp.

That particular morning, as she rolled over onto her back and blinked into wakefulness, Emma was confused for a moment not to hear any of the usual clatter and hum of typical morning conversation.  Scrunching her bow for a moment in thought, she remembered slowly that it was Saturday, Henry was with Regina for the weekend, and so Killian was probably still out on the porch with his morning brew, or had perhaps even ventured down to the docks to check on his beloved ship, while waiting for her to wake up and join him for whatever the day might hold.

As she awakened more fully, Emma registered the gentle pelting of rain on the roof overhead, a soothing rhythm that coaxed her awake with its natural symphony, soft and gentle.  She listened to it contentedly while debating if she was ready to crawl out of her den of blankets and seek out her husband – maybe they could sit on the porch together and just watch the downpour while wrapped in each other’s arms – when suddenly cold wetness broke into her thoughts, smacking against her side suddenly and soaking through her night shirt and across her cheek.

“Ahh! What on Earth!?” she gasped out, spluttering in confused surprise and quickly turning to see if somehow the window had blown open, only to meet the twinkling eyes of her pirate, droplets of sea water running down his face from his sopping hair, and having just snuck up and leapt back into bed with her, rain drenched clothing and all, nearly chortling with fiendish glee at her reaction.

Not content with merely having roused her into startled wakefulness and thoroughly chilling her from the cozy warmth she’d been lingering in, Killian proceeded to wrap her tightly in his arms – despite his sopping state – like some crazed octopus, and rub his dripping scruff playfully up her neck and over her cheek.

Half annoyed and half fighting not to laugh at his antics, Emma struggled to detach herself from his enthusiastic grip and smacked at his leather jacket clad shoulder, which only resulted in a wet squelching sound and him gathering her impossibly closer still.

“Killian, seriously?!” she finally exclaimed.  “You’re cold and wet!  What are you doing?!?”

Grinning with enough mischief and waggling eyebrow action to make her give in and smile back in spite of herself, Killian did finally release her and scooted back a bit when he felt her shiver.  “Well, I’ve been enjoying the peaceful morn alone for quite some time now, wife of mine, and the idea struck that being curled up by the fire, watching the rain fall on the harbor, would be ever so much more enticing if you would join me.  A surefire method of rousing you seemed to be in order, Love.”

“Did it now?” she questioned drily, quirking a skeptical eyebrow at him in an effort to appear unamused for one last ditch moment.  Truth be told, there was something in his honest desire for her company, even still, long after he had won her heart, they had married, and the two of them had more or less settled down together, which did her soul infinite good.  For so much of Emma Swan’s life, no one had even seemed to notice if she existed at all; she could have vanished from the face of the Earth chasing some skip in Boston, and there wouldn’t have been a single person to miss her.  Killian’s desire to simply share his morning with her, realizing that he wouldn’t be fully content until she joined him, made genuine happiness swell through her from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. It was hard for Emma to believe that she had actually once wanted to be anonymous, lost in a sea of faces she cared nothing for so she couldn’t be hurt again, and it had taken this lost man – this pirate who had given up all hope until they met – to show her just how far from the truth she was.  What was a bit of a chill and having to dry the sheets and pillowcases compared to that?

“Fine, you win,” she only pretended to grumble, shoving him a bit as she flung the covers off herself and began to get up.  “I’m getting out of bed. See?”

Killian nodded, looking ridiculously pleased with himself and then leaned in, quick as a flash, to smack another loud, sloppy kiss to her cheek and dart away before she could whirl to catch him.  Practically dancing across the room to the door as Emma huffed and squawked indignantly, he merely called back, “Excellent, my Love! I shall see you down there!” before making a swift exit.

“And there’d better be coffee!” Emma called out after him before moving to the dresser to pick up her brush and make some sort of haphazard bun once she’d combed the tangled – and slightly damp – waves of her hair.  Shaking her head and smiling to herself, she pulled some sweats on with the oversized shirt of her husband’s she’d slept in and moved eagerly to join him.  She had to give him a bit of hard time, if just for show, but she would happily start every morning just like this.


	44. How Pirates Beat the Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This is just a silly bit of hot weather fluff that I needed to get finished up and posted before summer completely passed me by… The idea of “Killian vs. an inflatable plastic pool” has been floating in my mind for some time, and this CS future family fic is what came of it. I am still stuck on my head canon of their daughter Morgan Ruth (whom I’ve written about several times before), so no offense to the lovely Hope Swan-Jones of canon, but Morgan is who weaseled her way into this story too! Hope you enjoy!!)

“Morgan, no! Wait! Oh bloody hell…” Killian’s voice rang out from the front yard clearly, even from where Emma stood inside at the kitchen window, helping Henry finish up the dishes from their lunch.  Glancing across the sink at her oldest, who smirked back, knowing one of them would have to go rescue the pirate, Emma’s shoulders were already shaking at the consternation in his tone, even without seeing her husband or her four-year-old and what she might be doing to prompt the exasperated tone in his voice.

 

Henry gave her a knowing look, the mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes clearly equally curious about what the other two members of their family might have gotten themselves into, but also that his mom was itching to get to them – to make sure that Morgan hadn’t hurt herself or led them into some kind of trouble, or that his poor stepdad didn’t get confounded beyond endurance.  “Go ahead and see what’s happening,” Henry assured his mom good naturedly, “I’ve got this,” indicating the soapy water and very few dishes left with a nod.

 

Emma grinned, ruffling Henry’s hair slightly as she passed, already on her way as soon as she got his reassurance to check on the rest of her little crew, the family unit so precious that she would once have never imagined something like it could be hers. Henry shook his head at her, but didn’t dodge or swipe her hand away, warming her heart as she knew - remembering just a bit too late to stop herself in the affectionate gesture - that her son didn’t protest the gesture he now found too childish, but allowed it gamely instead.  It struck her once again, a welcome, poignant pang in her chest, just how lucky she was, how blessed to finally have the family she had always longed for – enough so that at some moments it was all she could do not to grasp her two men and her little girl tight, cling to them as jealously as a pirate with his bounty – more avaricious in her love than her husband had ever been, buccaneer captain or no.

 

“Just go help them before they break something or Morgan declares a mutiny,” Henry scoffed playfully before turning back to the sink.

 

Still laughing lightly in agreement, Emma reached the front door and opened it onto the warm, sunlit front yard.  And though she had already been grinning happily, the view before her caused her smile to stretch even farther, nearly splitting her cheeks as a surprised guffaw broke from her lips.

 

In a trampled-flat segment of the grass on their lawn, several feet from the walk, sat the rather pathetic and half-inflated floppy ring of the plastic wading pool they had purchased for Morgan upon the true heat of the dog days of August setting in.  Killian had been adamant as to the needlessness of it: “I can take her out sailing at any time, Swan.  We’ll drop anchor and she can swim in a real body of water to her heart’s content. What do we need with this shallow fake device?” he’d argued in puzzled disgust.

 

She had listened to his fussing fondly, honestly a bit charmed as well as humored at Killian’s clear preference for the open salt sea and his beloved ship, almost as if offended on the old girl’s behalf that someone could suggest another way to enjoy the water.  Brushing at the few strands of just barely silvering hair at his temple with tender fingertips, she’d smiled indulgently.  “It’s just something kids enjoy in this world, Babe.  There may be times it’s hot and we aren’t free to take her out.  This will be quick, easy, and right here, okay?  It won’t make Mo love the Jolly any less.”

 

Watching her husband frustrated and struggling, Emma winced, hating to see that “easy” might not have been her best choice of words for the project.  Morgan was splashing merrily around in the water, even as Killian tried to fish her out, lecturing her about it deflating around her, slipping and falling, and it not being ready yet – all of which their stubborn and irrepressible toddler was cheerfully ignoring.  The water was cool and refreshing, and her father seemed to be playing a vigorous game of tag with her, so she was clearly more than pleased with the situation.

 

Emma didn’t waste long gawking, quickly seeing that though her husband was soldiering on with his task, he was also growing exasperated - she could always tell by the tight rigidity of his shoulders pulled up high toward his ears – and probably mentally berating himself for not being able to setup a modern child’s toy. Never mind that he might well have never seen one before and hadn’t want it in the first place; Killian didn’t seem to give himself any slack for such details.

 

It looked as though they had started the process out alright.  The wading pool was laid out over a flat space of grass and was about half aired up from the pump Killian had fitted correctly into the nozzle on the pool’s side for inflation.  Where it appeared things had gone off-kilter was when they had proceeded to put the water hose in to start adding water before the airing up was complete; apparently once there’d been standing water to splash about in, their impatient little guppy had not been able to wait.

 

The real death knell to the process however, Emma could see it clearly now as she came up right at her husband’s side, was that in his efforts to catch their slippery daughter, Killian had put his hook into the side of the pool, puncturing the plastic quite soundly and leading it to slowly sink back toward the ground limply as the air continued to escape.

 

“Problems?” she asked simply, reaching out to run a hand over her True Love’s shoulder and down his arm in what she hoped was a soothing gesture.  She didn’t want to take the task from him unless he was done fighting with it, nor to seem condescending or as if she didn’t think he could find his own way to salvage matters – he was incredibly capable and ingenuitive, as she well knew.  But, she did want to help if he wished it; the kiddie pool was meant to be for fun, not a frustration.

 

Killian stood to his full height, looking over at her a bit sheepishly with a face flushed from exertion and the heat.  “Aye,” he affirmed, scratching lightly behind his ear with the tip of his hook and then gesturing to the gaping hole.  “It would appear that I may not be the best man for this particular job, Love.” His half smile faltered just a bit as he finished speaking, his eyes falling away as if embarrassed at having trouble with the task…and well, Emma just couldn’t have that, couldn’t bear even that slightly pained look in his eyes over something he couldn’t help and wasn’t his fault anyway.  She should have just magicked the whole thing from the start; it would have made a lot more sense. But Morgan had been so anxious to go swimming in “her” new pool, and Killian was always so eager to see his princess had her heart’s desire, that Emma had let them go on without her, unthinking of the difficulty that might ensue.

 

Twisting her hand quickly in the air, a half rotation of the wrist, and her magic had completely patched the hole and filled the pool with air in a second.  Morgan squealed in delight as the pool suddenly grew to its full size around her and she went careening into the side, bouncing off and cackling as she fell on her stomach in the few inches of water, kicking her feet and splashing her hands.

 

Killian’s mouth dropped open for a second, as if after all this time her abilities still sometimes took him by surprise. Then, his gaze centered back on her shrewdly, his eyes narrowing as a devilish smirk crept over his lips and he took a playfully menacing step toward her.  “If you could have done that all the while, what was the meaning of sending me out here to fumble around like a fool, hmm?”

 

“You were so set on doing it for her right away,” Emma sassed back with a shrug, quirking her brow and trying to fake extreme unconcern, even as a giggle twitched at her corners of her mouth.  “Didn’t think I’d bother arguing with you, Captain,” she added archly.

 

“I see,” he murmured lowly, stalking after her as she took a step back, effectively bringing himself to stand right before her at the edge of the pool where Morgan was now sat still in the water, watching them both with curiously rapt attention.  “Making a fool of your Captain, then, are you?”

 

Emma tilted her head slightly, a challenging twinkle in her eye as she just managed to get out her next words without laughing.  “I’d say more like simply allowing him to make a fool of himself…” she trailed off, watching him and waiting to see where he’d take the banter next.

 

“Oh ho,” Killian chortled, looking down at Morgan, “what say you, matey?” he asked her.  “Do we allow Mama to mock us like that?” He waggled his brows dramatically for extra effect, grinning at his daughter even before she answered.

 

“No!” Morgan crowed loudly, pleased with herself and splashing to the far side of the pool again as she danced in excitement.

 

“And what do we do with those who show such cheek?” he continued, leering at Emma ridiculously in a way that made her cheeks heat up even as she shook her head at his antics.

 

“We make them walk the plank!” Morgan squealed, knowing she had the right answer for a pirate, even though she sounded not the least bit threatening.

 

“That’s right!” Killian agreed proudly, looking behind them, making sure Morgan was still out of the way, and then wrapping his arms around Emma in a grip she couldn’t escape, even as she began to squirm, eyes widening as she realized what he had in mind.

 

“Oh no you don’t!” she warned, placing her palms against his firm chest and trying to push away from him, to no avail.

 

“Oh yes,” he taunted, his voice a low thrill along her collarbone, where he planted a quick kiss. “Since we have no plank at present, a dunking shall have to suffice for your insubordination.” She felt him quickly grasp the part of his brace needed to twist to disengage his hook where his arms met at the small of her back, then he tossed it on the lawn somewhere behind her and pulled her into the barely shin deep pool along with him.

 

Gasping at the cold and spluttering out what went in her mouth as they landed, Emma struggled mightily to hold onto her anger at the abrupt soaking, but the peals of laughter from her daughter’s sweet voice and the low, warm chuckle rumbling in her husband’s chest as he gathered her closer in his arms made it hard to feel too righteously indignant.  Swiping her arm through the water, she sent a spray right back into Killian’s face and over him to Morgan in playful retaliation.

 

Soon all three of them were laughing and thrashing about in the cool water and tackling each other riotously, all sense of calm forgotten.  The hot, tired irritation had seeped from Killian’s being as if it were never there at all, and Emma found herself relaxing in turn, relieved that he wouldn’t hold onto his embarrassment or frustration, nor use it against her except in fun; he never had and she trusted that he never would.

 

The only thing keeping the entire moment from complete perfection was remedied moments later when Henry’s voice called out to them as he clambered down the front steps, “Hey!  What’s the idea of having all the fun without me?!?” His wide grin belied his words, teasing as good naturedly as the rest of them had been.

 

“We would do no such thing,” Killian answered smartly, looking for all the world as happy as a clam when he floundered upright to sit with Morgan dangling from where her skinny arms circled his neck like a monkey and his wet, bedraggled wife sprawled practically draped over his lap.  “We merely knew you would find and join us when mess duty was completed, as would any such fine first mate.”

 

Henry’s smile broke even wider across his cheeks at the ridiculous but heartfelt compliment.  He might be nearly grown, but he still seemed to love hearing that this man he adored as a second father valued his help and considered Henry his right (or, left in Killian’s case) hand man.  “Aye, then,” he conceded with a dip of the head and a bit of a salute.  “As you were.”

 

Of course, Emma was not in the least surprised when moments later their son threw himself smack into the middle of their heap in the water too.  There was more yelling, fumbling, giggles and splashes, but she didn’t mind one single bit. Soaking wet and silly with her family was all she could possibly want in the moment; her whole world was right beside her in a plastic wading pool.


	45. A Long Forgotten Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little fic was written as a birthday present for Jennifer (@whimsicallyenchantedrose). This isn’t necessarily divergent from canon, but it’s certainly future headcanon, in which Hope is five or six and I have imagined Killian and Emma might have adopted a child as well. (That doesn’t really come into the fic, I just think they would adopt with their histories, and Killian is mentioned as being a father of three at one point. )

It had been a rather long day at the station - somewhat tedious and dreary - and so Killian Jones had been more than happy to volunteer for picking up their daughter from her voice lessons at five-thirty and escaping the mundane parade of dwarves accusing one another of some brazen act of malfeasance, complaints about leaky cellars and roofs due to the recent spate of rainy days, and the pleas to go out on search patrol for missing house pets possibly lost in the downpour. Certainly he would take these common small town grievances over dangerous new villains swooping in and raining down chaos of which his Sheriff wife and fellow deputy father-in-law would heedlessly throw themselves in the way, regardless of the risk to their own lives and limbs. Still, one could only try to decipher Dopey’s flying hand gestures accusing Leroy of once again stealing the extra bacon slice Granny fondly slipped onto his breakfast plate at the diner so many times before having to get out of the office for a breather.

 

The sky was still a heavy grey full of low-hanging clouds that threatened even more rain as he parked the cruiser at the curb of the pretty blue house with a wide front porch, just down the street from the convent where the nuns - well, the fairies, technically - made their home in Storybrooke. He could already hear Hope’s high, chattering voice as soon as he opened the door, and he shook his head in amusement as her light words prattled along, hardly pausing for breath, added to only occasionally by a calmer, more sedate, adult chuckle at the proper moments in his little girl’s story.

 

Glancing up the walk, Killian could see his daughter and her music teacher both seated on the woman’s large, cushioned front porch swing, Hope’s tiny powder-keg of a form bouncing in excitement as she continued her narrative, and her ever-patient instructor nodding along with fittingly wide eyes as if she had never heard a more gripping tale in her life. Of course, once he had stepped out of the car, the sound of its door closing caused Hope’s head of riotously curling dark hair to whip around at the noise and a squeal to leave her upon catching sight of him.

 

“Papa!” she called, leaping to her feet and up from the swing as if she thought she could fly - startling both his and her teacher’s hearts into their throats until she landed safely on the porch floorboards. Running down the steps to grip him around the knees, Hope then took his hook in both of her little hands and tugged him back the way she had come, still exclaiming, “Wait until you hear what I learned today! It’s so pretty!!  And Ms. D. says a pirate lady might have sung it on her ship during watch late at night.”

 

Killian Jones couldn’t help the raised, curious eyebrow and smirk he shot toward the other adult on the porch at her proclamation, anymore than he could staunch the swell of emotion that nearly overcame him every single time his daughter grasped his metal appendage as easily and as simply as if it were a hand of flesh and bone, not troubled in the least by its presence, or the surge of pride he somehow felt - as retired as he might be - at Hope’s constant interest in pirates and the sea. To his chagrin, and Emma’s perpetual amusement, Hope was more than a bit piratical in her bearing and the mischief she could concoct as well, so the very suggestion that the song she had learned in her day’s lesson might have been sung at sea had surely made her a quite willing pupil. “Is that so, Love?” he asked mildly, holding back his mirth in the hope of avoiding the sort of stubborn temper one could flare in her if not careful.

 

“Sorry if I’m a bit late,” he added for her teacher’s benefit. Jennifer was her name, though Killian did not feel quite familiar enough to address her that informally, though he knew Emma often did. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” 

 

He rarely used most of his former flirtatious feminine nicknames with women about town either, not once he and Emma had been married and since he had become a father of three. Not that he felt there had been anything wrong with such playful appellations, and he still pulled out the fanciful “Milady Snow” for Emma’s mother and occasionally flushed Granny’s cheeks with a pleased blush upon calling her “Lass” as if she were twenty years old once more.  But it had only taken catching the tense, worried look of fear on Emma’s face (which she tried to deny when he asked) one time to make plying his charms with anyone other than his wife lose all appeal. It had appeared as if she still thought someone could actually beguile him or lure him away from her, and he could only shake his head in stunned disbelief at the very idea. So when Aurora smiled at him thankfully as he caught her runaway second son at the T-ball diamond, or when Tink giggled merrily and laid her hand on his forearm while  he joked with her at the market, Killian was friendly and kind, but also quick to gently disentangle himself as clearly as possible without any of his old quips to play up the moment.

 

Jennifer smiled back at him, her expression open and genuine, with an indulgent sparkle in her eyes as they flicked back to Hope beside him. “Of course not. It just seemed like such a lovely evening. Hope and I thought we’d come outside to wait until you arrived.”

 

Killian figured that was quite probably mostly Hope’s idea. His little buccaneer would never willingly stay indoors if given the choice, and her teacher was plainly just one more friend and neighbor who could not withstand her natural charm.

 

“Papa, come  _ on _ !” Hope urged impatiently, practically wriggling at his side. “Don’t you want to hear the song we learned? It’s a sea shanty.”

 

“Aye, little love, of course I do,” he nodded, ceasing his conversation and wandering thought and turning full attention back to her.

 

Nodding sagely, as if she would have expected nothing else from her doting papa, Hope’s tiny fingers, still wrapped around his shining metal appendage pulled him behind her as Ms. D. led them back into her foyer and through to the sunroom where she kept her piano. Hope proudly led him to the settee on one wall, under a large window, urging him to sit where he could enjoy her performance; her teacher all the while merely watching with a gentle smile on her face.  

 

When Jennifer saw that the Captain was settled and ready for them to begin, she seated herself at the piano, much as she had been during Hope’s vocal lesson earlier, and the child came to stand practically at her elbow, beaming and nodding that she was indeed ready when asked.  Her teacher held in a chuckle at her pupil’s enthusiasm, the Jones’ daughter puffing her little chest out with pride at having something new to show her father, and her bright green eyes sparkling with joy and excitement. Turning to place her hands on the keys, she gave Hope a count to prepare her, and then launched into the first notes of the piece they had been practicing that afternoon.

 

As often happened, especially when she had a willing compatriot to get swept along with her, Jennifer lost herself in the words and the notes, letting the tune she had found for Hope’s newest song carry her along on its soothing melody. So carried away they both were in fact, that she didn’t really come back to herself until she played the last note, Hope stopped singing, and they both looked over to find their former pirate audience with misty eyes, shaking himself as if from a dream, before quickly straightening up and slapping his hand on his thigh in applauding approval.  “That was beautiful, ladies! Truly quite magnificent!” Killian Jones praised sincerely.

 

She wasn’t going to call him on the fact that his voice sounded hoarse with some unspoken and hastily covered emotion. His daughter, however, showed no such restraint.  Rushing forward, Hope threw herself into his lap, her arms wrapping around her father’s neck and squeezing until he unwound them slightly to breathe properly again. “Oh no, Papa, what’s wrong?  Didn’t you like it? Ms. D. looked up a special song just for me. We thought it was really pretty.”

 

Killian Jones seemed to master himself, and whatever melancholy had gripped him momentarily was gone from his face as he shook his head, quickly moving to reassure his child. He also seemed to be shooting an apologetic look Jennifer’s way over Hope’s curls, though she was hardly offended (if admittedly a bit curious). “No, no, I liked it very much….it’s...nothing like that.”  His voice trailed off for a moment as he gathered Hope more securely on his knee. “I just… that melody...I hadn’t heard it for many years. It seemed to be coming out of a dream when you started it. My mother used to sing that to me…. A long time ago….”

 

Now, Jennifer knew enough of the reformed Captain Hook’s story to know just how long ago that truly might have been, but she wasn’t going to pry, and she wasn’t going to confuse a six-year-old if all of that realm-hopping, time-stands-still in Neverland confusion hadn’t been explained to Hope. She knew for herself the power of a song to take a person back to another place in time. While that power was a gift, it could bring bittersweet memories as well as purely happy ones. 

 

Gentleman to the core though, Killian Jones seemed determined to see that they both knew he found their performance lovely.  “Thank you, both of you. I would not have thought to ever hear that chorus again. It was captivating.”

 

Jennifer merely nodded, letting him know he was more than welcome.  Hope, looking relieved, merely hugged her papa tightly, then slid down to the floor, her fleeting attention no longer content to be still.  “Yes, thank you Ms. D! See you next week!” And then she was skipping back out of the room to the door.

 

Captain Jones remained just a moment longer, his voice quiet, still a bit awesd and touched as he added, “Thank you, Milady...truly. It was wonderful to hear my mother’s lullaby again.”  With a little bow to her, he followed his daughter down the porch steps and back to the car, leaving Jennifer infinitely glad she she had picked that particular song of the many that she had uncovered in her research.  She would have never expected Hope’s father to listen to it as if they had been giving him the best treasure ever unearthed in his long and storied career.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ Notes: I was going to include lyrics to a sea shanty (I looked up several) for Hope to be singing, but I decided to leave that open to interpretation. The one I was leaning toward, with lyrics like: “Yo! Ho, how we go!   
> Oh how the winds blow!   
> White Wings, they never grow weary  
> Night comes I long for my dearie  
> I’ll spread out my white wings  
> And sail home to thee…” ended up being too fast paced to sound like a lullaby once I looked up a recording of it. I considered some others, “Endearing Young Charms”, “Cliffs of Doneen”, and others (Including “She Moved Through the Fair”), but in the end I liked them all and couldn’t really settle on one for sure. If you know of an Irish sea shanty you particularly like, just pretend it’s that one Hope’s singing! :)


	46. What a Kiss Should Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was in answer to a Tumblr prompt for a "Rainy Kiss" for Naval Beauty (i.e. Liam Jones and Belle) I was only to have to oblige with this drabble - I adore some Liam and Belle goodness whenever it is written!! :)

Belle was just locking the door, balancing awkwardly in the rainy deluge that had washed over Storybrooke all day and now into the evening, as she attempted to juggle the ring of keys in her hand, her bag of books and paperwork to carry home, her purse, and her empty travel mug of that morning’s tea without spilling them all on the wet pavement, when she heard her name called through the downpour. Her breath caught in her throat, startled both that anyone would be out on the street in this driving rain, or that anyone would be so desperately in need of finding her. Ever since Rumple’s disappearance some six months ago (tinkering with some spell he yet hoped would free him from the dagger, she figured resignedly) she had been basically alone to go about her days as she pleased. She had friends, of course, but at the end of the day it was usually just she and her books curled up together, and though it could be a bit lonely, it was certainly better than constantly dreading what she might next learn her spouse had done to hurt everyone else they knew.

For a moment her heart began to race all too quickly, the hoarse, accented voice calling her name again, barely muffled by the water cascading between them, before adding on the plea, “Please, Lass, at least look at me…”

 

The racing of her heart picked up, but no longer from fear, as she recognized the accent was not that of her missing spouse, but the lilting cadence of the man who now held her heart - though she couldn’t admit it to him. If she let it, even with the wind howling around the edges of his words and the pattering of water drops in serenade, this voice could soothe her as easily as the gentle roll of the ocean’s waves themselves. But for his own good, she had to keep her distance. If Rumple returned to find her with another…  

 

Keeping her back turned toward the library door she had been locking for the night, Belle shook her head vigorously, even as she began to tremble all over with the effort of holding herself back, to keep from turning to look up at that rugged, careworn face she wanted to drink in and never stop. Though she was determined, it was still all she could do not to run to him, calling his name in return, and be swept up in his strong, work-hardened arms like the heroine in one of her beloved novels. Pressing her mouth closed tightly, she shook her head and forced herself to say nothing.

 

It did no good, as she heard his heavy tread splashing through the sidewalk puddles to reach her, and then his hand was on her arm, turning her gently to face him at last. A protest was on her lips, even as she looked up to meet his stormswept gaze, but all words died on her tongue at the look within those grey-blue depths. She intended to send him away, to remind him of the damage the Dark One could do to anyone who touched what he perceived as “his”, to argue that she was only trying to protect him. But instead she melted into his tall, solid frame as he did indeed gather her up and nearly lift her off her feet in his embrace. She was standing on her very tiptoes as her hands found their way up to his shoulders without her conscious decision.

 

“Liam, I…” she started breathlessly, the rain blurring her vision of everything but him, and the air giving out in her lungs at his nearness before she could finish.

 

As if reading her thoughts, Liam Jones shook his head once impatiently before leaning down to press his forehead to hers and then speaking lowly, with breathtaking fervor.  “I don’t care what might happen. I have never felt this way, in life or afterlife, and I will not let fear rob us of what we might have.”

 

Looking up at him, thinking hazily that he sounded as though he came off the pages of the Brontës themselves, she could merely nod, her unhappy resistance not that strong.  Nodding her consent, in the next instant he was cradling her head, arms wrapped around her to cushion her slim shoulders as she was pressed against the outer wall of her precious library.  His mouth was ravenous, all-consuming, and Belle could only marvel that  _ this _ must be what a kiss was meant to be. Snaking her fingers up to tangle in his disheveled, soaked curls, she returned the kiss with equal hunger, sinking into him as the rain fell all around.


	47. Bless What is Given You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just barely got this posted for @searchingwardrobes on her birthday. I set out to give her some Captain Charming Hood friendship and shenanigans, as well as some 3b canon divergence - perhaps fighting flying monkeys - and there is some of that, but I’ve also discovered that when I let myself write Robin Hood he tends to take over. I always liked him and wanted more of him, and apparently when I intentionally include him in the story, he really wants to participate! Anyway, there’s possibly less Charming and Killian than expected, but I do hope you’ll have some fun reading this all the same.
> 
> I will add that Emma’s younger brother is called Leo in this - I just can’t do the whole “Prince Neal” thing. Maybe pretend somewhere along the line Charming and Snow learned the full, true story and so changed their youngest’s name – in my head, to Leo Graham. This has some 3b missing moments/divergence, and then some future fluff as well. No other pertinent warnings I don’t think, expect maybe for turkeys being hunted for the Thanksgiving table. But I really know very little about hunting, so it shouldn’t be too disturbing.

“Do you mean to tell me you think you know better than a queen?” Regina’s haughty voice practically dripped disdain from each clipped, precise syllable she spoke. The perfect arch of her sculpted brow rose in question, disbelief and disapproval clear on her challenging, flawless face, even if her tone had not made her opinion more than apparent. “My mother was Rumplestiltskin’s most prized pupil; he sought me out himself to train me as well, chose  _ me  _ to cast his precious Dark Curse… Do you honestly think the fact that you can scare off a few monkeys with your arrows and you’ve been squatting in his deserted castle makes you a better judge of...of…” Even though she spoke the “you” as though her mouth was swallowing something foul and her face scrunched up accordingly, it seemed that the formerly Evil Queen was at a rare loss for words to express just how ridiculous the very idea was.

 

Unfazed, the scruffy archer gazed right back at her cheekily, seeming more than a bit amused by her ruffled feathers and inability to continue. “Not sure that is quite the distinction you’re making it out to be, Milady,” he offered with a smirk.

 

From across the way, Snow couldn’t seem to resist chiming in with the outlaw who had once befriended a princess on the run; who, in what now seemed like another life had helped her fine-tune her skills with a bow and advised her on spots in the forest where one could most easily hunt game to eat without encountering Regina’s guards. Though Snow had long since made the choice to put their painful and sordid history in the past, there was something that teased a warble of delighted laughter up her throat at the sight of this bandit who once graced “Wanted” posters by her side agitating Regina to the point of losing all her icy, polished reserve. “It is a bit of a dubious honor, Regina, you have to admit.”

 

Charming beside her dipped his head to hide the chuckle rumbling in his chest as well, reaching across their round council table’s polished surface to squeeze her hand. The shepherd-prince consort would have been lying if he refused to admit there wasn’t a part of him who enjoyed watching her Majesty flunder for her unaffected poise. It went without saying that the curse they were speaking of had ripped he and Snow apart and taken their daughter from his arms almost the moment she was born; consigning them all to 28 lonely years of misery. The truth was that plain and simple, but he wisely held his tongue. At least since his recent pirate friend had gone off on his own after their arrival back in their land, Robin was someone to break a bit of the tension and who might lighten all of their dark and despairing moods once in a while.

 

As they returned to discussing the plan to raid Gold’s castle here in their home realm, knowing Zelena had holed up in the Dark One’s stronghold - with Rumplestiltskin himself still prisoner - it became clear it was really the only method they had left to try, to hope that the man who always knew so much more than anyone else would also know some way out of this mess, some way to stop Regina’s rage and envy fueled half-sister. Belle across the table looked pale and strained, her lips pressed together in a thin line but determined, needing to help in whatever way she could. Even if they couldn’t free her True Love, even if his mind were already too fractured by his near death, the half-possession that had held his son’s mind within his body as well, and then that son’s violent loss him, he wouldn’t want things to continue as they were; him under Zelena’s control and bent to her will. Belle had to cling to that truth if nothing else.

 

Seeming to sense her flagging spirit, Charming saw Leroy sitting next to her place a clumsily large, axe-calloused hand over her slender, tiny one and give it a reassuring squeeze. The dwarf leaned over to whisper encouragingly to the petite beauty, and the prince realized that even within his inner circle of friends and allies there were deeper friendships, and stories leading to them that he didn’t know, as Belle’s petite frame relaxed and her tense shoulders lowered slightly at the stout little man’s clearly welcomed assurances. The former shepherd thought he just made out the kind, if gruffly voiced, words, “Hang in there, Sister, the battle ain’t over yet.” Charming smiled; that might as well be a mantra for all of them.

 

~~~~~~~~~****

 

Robin of Locksley, otherwise known in the Enchanted Forest these days by his more colorful moniker of Robin Hood, simply could not seem to help it. He knew something about him - be it his cavalier attitude towards risk and danger, his leisurely and rather lax methods of ruling over his crew (can he help it if he’d trust them with his life and has never had cause to question their loyalty or skill?), or perhaps it was just his very form and person she objected to. Whatever the case may be, he couldn’t help goading her, rattling that posh control of which the woman seemed so proud. Behind the cool and haughty veneer Regina Mills carefully wore, he sensed something injured - fragile, even - though she would be appalled at the thought that any weakness showed, he had no doubt of that. The irony, of course, was that bit of a chink in her flawless armor was the one thing that kept him from dismissing her as another selfish, cruel royal stepping on the backs of those less fortunate to get ahead. Her tiny show of pained humanity, the loneliness hidden behind those large dark eyes, beguiled him no matter how hard he tried to resist; that drew his empathy where otherwise he would have had only scorn for her past actions and the villain she had been.

 

They were in the Dark Castle; seemingly, hopefully, having escaped Zelena’s notice so far, but stymied by a large door into the chamber where Rumplestiltskin  _ had  _ to be imprisoned. They had searched the entire rest of the castle and found it empty. None of them were foolish enough, however, to assume that the fact that they had not yet seen the Wicked Witch meant that the way ahead was safe or that she had not laid hidden snares for any intruders. Particularly not if this door were the barrier beyond which she was hiding the powerful being she meant to both use and prove herself to. There had been no other closed doors until this one, after all.

 

With a huff of impatience, as if she couldn’t be bothered to waste another second of her time - even with safety - the former Queen reached forward, her perfectly manicured hand nearly to the golden inlaid handle despite the Princess Snow’s warnings for caution and the Lady Belle’s wise suggestion that they wait. What appeared as bold unconcern and decisiveness radiated down her spine of steel, held ramrod-straight, but there was a slight tremor in those pale fingers, one he would have missed if he hadn’t been seeking it, just before they closed around the polished metal.

 

Some strange shiver of foreboding knowledge borne of a life in the forest, in the shadows, constantly on the move, pursued and on the run, made a shiver of more than tangible knowledge run through him, and Robin’s limbs and muscles were reacting before his mind issued a conscious order. Knowing the proud woman plowing ahead would not heed any words he called out anyway, he had silently reached over his shoulder, pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it to his bow, and let it fly before another moment passed, startling Regina enough as its course whistled past her ear to make her jerk back several steps. 

 

The feathered missile embedded in the heavy oaken portal with the solid  _ “thunk”  _ of a shot ringing true, but to the horror of all, rather than remaining there, vibrating from its landing, the arrow was lost from sight as the entire door was engulfed in instantaneous flames.

 

Watching the blaze which would undoubtedly have devoured her as well had he allowed her to touch that door before loosing his arrow, Regina paused for mere moments before whipping around, dark eyes flashing, to arrest him angrily. “That arrow nearly took off my head!” she barked, voice as sharp as jagged glass.

 

Robin shot back, unable to keep himself from rising to the bait. Her lack of gratitude didn’t even surprise him by that point, but he hadn’t intended to be chastised for his quick-thinking aversion of danger either. “Where I come from a simple thank you would have sufficed.”

 

The regent’s black eyebrow rose in eloquent derision, making her opinion of where he came from quite clear without speaking a word. Yet, despite that hateful, snarling facade he could see the slight tremor he had previously noticed in her pale hands become a full-body quivering that, while still not plainly visible, had to be making it hard for her to remain standing, much less glaring at him with such vitriol. Her full, blood-red-painted lips trembled minutely as well until her perfect white teeth bit into the lower one, stilling it and making him swallow heavily with some reaction he couldn’t explain. She  _ was _ shaken; that much he knew. But he could understand refusing to admit fear, not being able to let it show for the sake of those who follow, who must see strength to stay their course.

 

Thankfully, the clearly magical blaze soon expired and the way before them was as clear and unbarred as all the previous entryways they had encountered. Not without a bit of trepidation, but also as brave and determinedly as he had long since learned their hero contingent to be, Prince Charming and Snow pressed forward, followed anxiously by Belle (whom Robin’s heart panged for as she clearly ached to find the man she loved still able to recognize her and navigate his own mind) and the rest of their group. Regina just to the side, looked for all the world as if she were in no particular hurry to enter and see her former mentor, but could instead care less one way or the other. Hanging back, the outlaw of Sherwood Forest made sure the others had passed through the door and into the other room, well out of hearing, before he stepped up to Regina’s side, drawing almost nose-to-nose with her. He then leaned forward practically brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured. “There’s no need to pretend you’re made of stone,  _ your Majesty… _ ” He put precise emphasis on the title that she had let him know in no uncertain terms that she preferred upon their first meeting in the forest. “In fact, with the present company, I believe you might get much further by letting them see that you have doubts and fears, just as they do. I know I like you much better seeing you as more than the Evil Queen.”

 

At her sharp intake of air with his last pronouncement, he pulled back quickly, half expecting a slap to be stinging his skin at any moment. Instead, he found color rising hotly up her neck, her chest rising and falling strenuously in that ridiculously low-cut corseted gown, and her generally looking more flustered and affected than he had ever seen her before.

 

She opened and closed her mouth soundlessly for several seconds until her tart tongue seemed to return to her, then spit out a quick, “Insolent bandit,” before moving to brush past him and follow the others.

 

Something in Robin snapped and surged to life in answer of her challenge; not allowing her to push him aside, he grasped her upper arm firmly and held on, her back to the wall and crowding in close to her, until their breaths were mingling in the same air, their faces were so close. Even as his pulse pounded and his heart rate skyrocketed, Robin wondered what had come over him. The woman had maimed and killed, schemed and plotted for her own selfish ends, and stood for everything he had devoted himself to toppling. She was nothing like his beloved Marian had been; someone with whom he would not have imagined sharing a thing in common - and yet he couldn’t fight the pull he felt. The need to imprint upon her not to put her life at risk so needlessly again.

 

Sweeping forward, he dove into an all-consuming kiss, taking her mouth with his and giving no quarter, delving further instead, and swallowing the whimper and hum that escaped her throat unconsciously, despite her best attempts to remain unaffected.  

 

Regina’s hands grappled blindly at his biceps as if trying to steady herself. She scrabbled for solid support before helplessly melting against him, opening for his questing mouth and giving herself over to the heated embrace. When they finally broke for air, she was breathless, and he huffed out a winded chuckle himself when she managed, “Well, Thief, that really was quite pleasant… Even if you do still smell of forest.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***

 

_ Several realms, curses, and years later, in Storybrooke _

 

The three men and their half dozen offspring of various ages creeping through the woods on the border of Storybrooke out near the town line are quiet and intent, completely and unabashedly focused on their prize. Up ahead, atop the small rise of a hill as the sun climbs fully into the cold, clear November morning sky, their prey struts proudly, stopping occasionally to offer its warbled call or peck at the rough ground beneath its feet. They have been tracking the large turkey for some time now, since before day fully dawned, and the time to strike has come at last.

 

Briefly, the thought flits through Robin’s head that this could be the same tom that had escaped himself and his Merry Men in this same forest years ago, when the hunt had been interrupted by the nightmarish interruption of a winged simian attacker and LIttle John’s subsequent transformation - to this day the large and otherwise unflappable man stays far away from this particular section of the forest and refuses to go anywhere near the town line on foot. A quick glance at David and his preteen son to the right, then Killian and his little girl and second son to the left, gives him the hint from both men’s expressions that they are also remembering that rather ill-fated day, as bows are readied and last instructions offered.

 

He can only hope they will face nothing so unexpected this fine morn. The turkey before them has been promised to grace the main table of the large community Thanksgiving feast, and between the three men and their brood of adventurous junior hunters it is a matter of pride that they not return empty-handed today. Roland was promised the first unobstructed shot, and the young man, just barely a teenager but already capable and thoughtful as an adult, has already taken aim and is readying his shot to fly, much to his half-sister Margot’s displeasure as she stands just behind her big brother at Robin’s elbow. She is as untamed and mischievous as Roland is quiet and serious, and was much put out at the decision that Roland as the oldest child should get first chance, arguing rather heatedly that Roland might be biggest but she was the best shot. His blond-braided, green-attired second child is one of the best shots he’s ever seen at barely ten, but if she doesn’t learn to keep her temper and her slightly spoiled younger sibling petulance under control, he is certainly in for further trials in a few years.

 

Even in the few silent moments afforded him as they all hold their breaths, Rob feels the gratitude and love he has for his children, and the friends and adopted family surrounding them, surge through him with new strength. He had so very nearly left this world, numerous times over, as had the men on either side of him, and the women each of them loved. It was part of the heavy mantle they wore when standing against the Darkness in the world and fighting it back from the light and good time after time. Still, what better time than the present holiday to give thanks for the fact that they are all still standing and present to celebrate together?

 

Roland lets out a soft breath and then releases the arrow, just as a sharp cry rings out to the left.  His son’s aim is true, but the bird is startled from its perch just in time to have the shot glide by beneath its talons as it takes flight. David on his right is already directing Leo to adjust his aim quickly and get off a second shot, even as Robin’s eyes sweep to where Killian is picking Hope from tripping over a jutting tree root and brushing off her dark leggings as she clearly struggles to hold back embarrassed and disappointed tears.

 

What he hasn’t banked on is his daughter’s inability to wait her turn or hold back any longer. Quick as whip, Margot lets fly, striking the bird right as she intends and sending it toppling from the sky. Mouth falling open in surprise at her audacity and her skill in equal measure, Robin can’t help the surge of pride at his daughter’s prowess, even if he knows he should admonish her for taking Leo’s moment from him and wondering if he should be making certain Roland doesn’t feel overshadowed.  However, his eldest spares him the trouble when he whoops and claps Margot on the shoulder, crying out “You got him on the fly, Sis! Nice one!”

 

When the whole group converges together, he decides to let the lecture about abiding by the rules and taking turns slide for the time being upon noticing that Leo looks rather relieved that the pressure to prove his mettle before their quarry escaped has been taken off of his shoulders. Instead, he claps his little girl on the shoulder, squeezing with gentle affection until she looks up at him, beaming.  Like her brother before her, she is growing much too fast, turning into a young lady before his eyes, and so for a moment, he lets himself revel in the fact that she still wants to spend time out in the woods with him and wishes to make him proud. Her papa won’t hold the favored spot in her heart forever, so he may as well savor it while he can.

 

He thinks Killian’s youngest, barely old enough to be tromping around out here with them in truth, looks a bit teary at the downed and unnaturally still bird before them, so he hurries to bag their prize for the journey homeward and puts it out of sight over his shoulder while Killian picks his tired youngest up off his feet and begins asking him how many different types of trees he can recognize from their leaves on the way back. That seems a bit difficult for a five-year-old until little Liam David begins happily babbling (suitably distracted thankfully) and pointing out oaks, maples and scotch pines as the pirate’s unerring sense of direction leads their whole troupe out of the forest toward the main road where they’ve left their trucks, Margot takes his hand, and Hope her grandpa’s, and Roland and Leo fall in behind talking amiably and carrying the bows. Apparently they have a budding naturalist in their midst as well, and Killian Jones - as usual - knows exactly what he is doing.

 

When he, Roland, and Margot trail back into the mayoral mansion some time later, discarding their muddy boots by the door, but still scattering crumbled leaves and dirt in the entryway, Regina stands in the entryway shaking her head, and directs the children toward the laundry room to discard their outerwear before heading upstairs to wash for dinner.  She looks at him as if trying to muster exasperation, but is unable to do so. That flawless Queen is long gone; she has come a long way since they snapped and snarled at each other in self-preservation back in their home realm, neither wanting to fall in love and risk heartbreak again.

 

Snatching his jacket collar and pulling him in close, she nips at his lips playfully before murmuring against his scruffy cheek, “You still smell like forest,” she mocks, “but somehow you’ve managed to steal my heart.”

 

He shakes his head, offering back words she’d stunned him with once long ago, “That’s not quite the way I remember it.  If I recall, your heart was given to me,” he whispers, emotion taking over the jest, “and a person can’t steal what’s been given to them.”

 

All in all, he’s been given much more than a simple archer from Sherwood Forest could have ever hoped to deserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melanie (@searchingwardrobes) you deserve the most wonderful birthday and coming year. You’ve done so much for some many shipmates in this fandom to brighten their birthdays, and I just wanted to give a little bit back to you. Enjoy!!


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